Act Two
by ghostwriter1341
Summary: After an emotional battle, Tempest returns to New York after three months. Ciel is reluctant to receive her, but he can't say no to her. They make a drastic decision and are forever bonded. You would think it would be a happily ever after, right? No, that would be too easy. Old and new enemies raise their ugly heads and it will take everything they've got just to survive.
1. Chapter 1

"Tempest, Tempest!" Beatrix hollered. Her voice carried throughout the empty house.

She didn't find her in the parlor, the living room, or in the hallway. The girl couldn't be at the local pub. Tempest had sworn off all alcohol the moment of her arrival. She said the stuff made her nauseous just looking at it. Nobody argued with her.

"Tempest!"

Beatrix wandered around until she came across the kitchen.

The woman in question couldn't have answered her. A set of ear buds were planted firmly in her ears, practically glued to her head. Tempest was off in her own world as her hands worked with the delicate foliage and flora. If she couldn't perform on stage, the woman had to find something to do in her spare time. And there was a lot of it.

Apparently, she found floral design soothing. She was no expert, but who else was there to judge? Her pieces were quiet good. It seemed that her new-found talent was the only thing she could focus on. Undertaker made great use of her new hobby. As of yet, she been asked to arrange the flowers for at least three or four funerals.

"There you are. Your dad told me to fetch you. Hello?" Beatrix waved her hands in the air, but to no avail.

Tempest was deep in concentration. The older woman frowned deeply. It wasn't so much that Tempest wasn't listening to her, it was that strange look in her eyes. Tempest's blue eyes were the same as ever in color and clarity. But Beatrix, with her acute woman's intuition and gut-feeling, knew better. She had seen Tempest through good and bad times. Something was missing. Something was being bottled up. Obviously, she must have missed being so far from her mother's grave and separated from the city she knew and loved. Her career was over before it really started. That was another possibility. Beatrix had been pondering over the girl's lack of interest, even though she was really good at hiding her subtle depression. That's what you get when you decide to let an actress be your best friend. The grim reaper decided not to probe any further than necessary, for now. If the feeling in her gut annoyed her or if Tempest finally went over the deep end, then she would pry. For now, things would have to play out for themselves.

With an aggravated sigh, Beatrix marched over to the table, shaking the large vase Tempest had been concentrating on. She reached into her pocket and paused the music, removing both of the ear buds.

"May I help you?" Her tone was dead pan. Another thing that Beatrix noticed.

"Your dad wants to see you outside. He's got someone he wants you to meet. They're out on the veranda."

Tempest clipped the end of a rose and placed it strategically in the vase. The table was a mess of fern leaves, uncut flowers, and tiny pieces of foam. Newspapers were stained with green smudges; the same plant material marked the pinstriped apron on her chest. She didn't seem to notice or care how she appeared at the moment. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun. Strands of hair hung around her face. Underneath her fingernails, the plant material was stuck beneath, painting the underside of each nail a dark, foresty color. She wore all black: a short-sleeved blouse and long trousers. Her feet were covered by a pair of black ballet flats.

Wordlessly, Tempest walked to the front of the house, wiping her hands with the apron still tied behind her neck and behind her back.

Beatrix grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. She ran her thumb against her tongue and rubbed it against Tempest's cheek.

"What are you doing?" Tempest complained as Beatrix continued the process of removing whatever was on her face.

She was quickly turned around. Tempest felt the grim reaper untying her hair and then using her fingers to comb it. Her hair was pulled into a pony-tail. The stray hairs were forced back and away from her face.

Tempest brushed her off before Beatrix could do anything else. They continued without stopping.

"Just what was _that_ about? You didn't care about my appearance before," Tempest sniped.

"Yeah well, you looked like a ragamuffin. The least you could do is make yourself look pretty before meeting somebody."

She chuckled darkly, "Am I meeting the queen of England?"

Beatrix opened the door.

"No, but you are meeting a guy."

Tempest opened her mouth but couldn't find the right words to say. The idea came to her, however Undertaker wouldn't do that. Not to her and besides the fact it was completely out of character for him. Unless that meddling Speares had decided to stick his nose where it didn't belong again. She still hated him for what he did.

The bright afternoon sun greeted her. Undertaker stood with his back towards the door. He was talking with someone, a man, but his body and the hat on his head completely eclipsed the stranger from view. As Tempest stepped, he ended his talk with the gentleman in question and moved aside.

Not to her surprise, he was a grim reaper. He had a broad smile and piercing green eyes behind black, square frames. The hair on his head was cut short, blonde on top and black underneath.

"My, my, Mister Undertaker. You didn't say that your daughter was so pretty."

Tempest blushed a little. It was a long time before someone said she was pretty.

"Tempy, this is Ronald Knox..."

"Dad, we've talked about this. I don't like it when you call me that."

He gave her cheek a friendly pinch. "Takes after her mother."

Tempest swatted his hand away, pouting. She turned to the gentleman that had been presently introduced. Yup, Undertaker went there. Did she really appear that lonely that he actually called somebody up? The man came all the way over to Ebonyshire, which was probably in the middle of nowhere as far as Great Britain and Tempest was concerned. But, nothing could be done now. She couldn't act like she didn't want him here. If he came all the way here, then she might as well find out what he wanted, without being rude.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Tempest asked politely as she could. At the moment, she just wanted to scuttle back into the kitchen and finish her floral arrangement and finish the evening with some dinner, a book, and then off to bed.

"Would like to have dinner tonight?"

Apparently, her plans had been dashed and broken like a fragile urn. She could say no, but they obviously put some thought into this so-called 'date.' It would be rude and this Ronald character seemed nice enough. Maybe, just maybe, she might forget her problems for a while, even for just one night. The thing is, she was desperately clinging to the idea that she would return to New York soon. The days turned to weeks and weeks turned into months. Tempest thought she was hiding her depressing, however by the looks of it she wasn't doing a very good job of it anymore.

She wiped her fingers with the apron, trying to decide.

"Just, um, just let me clean myself up a bit. I'll be down shortly." She didn't look at Ronald when she answered. Her eyes were turned downwards. She was staring at her feet.

Tempest turned about rather quickly. There was a lump forming in her throat, but she didn't know why.


	2. Chapter 2

Tempest stared blankly at her cup of coffee. Even bystanders could tell that only one of them was enjoying the date. They sat in the back of a coffee house. With its dimmed lighting and red shades, the coffee house would have been ideal, but she just wasn't into it. The place was a small cafe, small but busy. It owned a cozy, intimate ambiance. Tables were crammed together in such as small place, it was any wonder how one could hear themselves think. Between the patrons and the waiters, there was never a moment of silence. Cups clinked, metal spoons stirred up coffee and teas in ceramic cups. Somewhere in the distance, in the back of the cafe, a blender whirred into life, tossing and turning, mixing and churning its contents into liquid format.

She looked up from her caramel latte just to appear that she hadn't lost interest him. She smiled and Ronald smiled back.

"You're an actress I hear. Been in anything I've seen?"

"Not unless you were in New York City recently, though I'm afraid my career was...cut short." Subconsciously, she reached for her left shoulder, which still felt the slightest twinge of numbness. Tempest could feel a stiffness and painful tightening whenever she tried to lift anything over ten pounds.

"Oh right. Sorry. I forgot about the Ravencraft Incident." Ronald's were sincere, but they still cut deep in her heart.

The Ravencraft Theater. No matter how hard she tried, the name stuck with her like an old scar, both literally and metaphorically. That evening was over three months ago, however to Tempest it felt like it happened just yesterday. The anguish and deepest feeling of rejecting surged up out of the confines of her brain, from the shadowy area where she kept her darkest secrets. She could still see the faces of the cast and crew looking at her like she was a monster or she was the one to blame. Could still feel their cold stares and smell the blood permeating the theater. Seven people were dead because of her. Deep down, Tempest blamed herself for the whole tragedy. There wasn't anyone else the demon Alessandra was after, so it must have been her fault.

Ronald sensed Tempest's sudden change in mood. He put down his coffee.

"Why don't we go get something stronger to drink? I know this great pub-"

Tempest shook her head, hers eyes were cast downward. Her mood darkened even further.

"I don't drink. I'm three months sober." She went back to stare into her coffee cup as if it had the answers to her questions.

"I didn't know."

The clouds in her coffee swirled within the confines of the cup. Tempest absentmindedly stirred the red plastic straw around. Neither of them spoke. Tempest kept her head down. Her smile faded into a frown. This wasn't going well at all.

Conversations seemed to grow louder all around them. Just like the streets of New York. Closing her eyes, she could imagine herself back home sitting outside at a cafe on Main Street. She could hear the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple swarming all around her. She could smell the car exhaust pumping through the air with the scent of cheap perfume, steaming hot dog stands, and the ever present scent of cement. Feet, hundreds of them, pounding the pavement. Thousands of strangers swimming past her as she sat in front of her favorite place, Sergio's. She knew the owner like he was her older brother or father. She could still hear his Italian accent bellowing over the crowds making their way downtown.

And then, just as she was picking up her cup of imaginary coffee, a face began to appear across from her. Maybe she was feeling guilty and began envisioning Ronald's face. That wasn't the case, however. As the face became clearer and more distinct, a head of dark hair came into view. Black, not blonde.

"Tempest," Ronald's voice brought her back to the present. "Is everything okay?"

She looked up, only this time she couldn't force herself to smile. This didn't feel right. Nothing felt right any more.

"I can't do this anymore," she raised her head and looked at Ronald in the eye, "I'm so sorry, but this can't work." She picked up her purse and coat.

Tempest left their booth in a hurry. Ronald went after her.

"Could I at least walk you home?" He knew something was wrong with her and didn't want to push it, but he couldn't let her walk out in the night by herself. Speares would have his head.

"I'll be fine. I can walk by myself. I'm not helpless." Tempest brushed him away. She left him standing in the cafe's entrance, holding the glass and wood door for her.

She couldn't look at him. She was too ashamed of herself. She had been leading him on. It wasn't right. He was so nice to her. It had been a while since she met someone who was nice. But there was a hole in her chest, a hole that left her empty and desperately alone. A rain drop touched her cheek. Looking up at the late evening sky, dark clouds gathered, blanketing the stars and the moon. They moved quickly across the skies. Tempest didn't realize how long she stood there. She must have stayed there watching the stormy clouds roll softly, but with speed overhead. Her fingers touched the rain on her cheek. It was cold to the touch.

The first raindrop was followed by another, and then another. Then single drops became a drizzle and then the drizzle became a downpour. Bystanders in the streets headed for cover. They ducked beneath the shelters of their umbrellas, bags, purses, coats, and even newspapers until they could reach dry safety from the billowing shower. Not Tempest. She didn't care if they rain poured down on her. All she could feel was this aching numbness engulfing her, mind and soul. Three months had passed since she moved so far from her hometown. She tried to get over it, put her past behind her, leave it in New York City. Sadly, her heart was in New York. She was ripped away from it far too soon. She was born there, she was raised there. Her first steps were taken in Central Park. Her schools were in Brooklyn. Her mother was buried there and in the past, Tempest hoped to be buried beside. Why couldn't she get rid of this dull ache?

As she walked down the streets with her head hung low, her shoes drenched in mud, Tempest, for the first time, admitted that she was depressed. Ebonyshire wasn't a big city. It was a lonely little village, surrounded by farms and woods. It wasn't the same. This was a place to live, but it wasn't her home. There was something missing. Or maybe...someone?

Tempest listened to the rain and her feet sloshing around in the mud. She pulled her coat closer to her body. It was unusually warm for October, according to Beatrix. Tempest guessed from her years of experience that the city would be much cooler than this. The trees in Central Park would be a rainbow of warm colors by now. There would be bright yellows, reds, and oranges cascading to the ground. Tempest looked up, turning towards the woods just beyond the old convent. The trees were black even against the darkened sky. They blew this way and that. Even from where she stood, Tempest could hear the branches of the forest brush against each other violently, like siblings fighting each other for space in a cramped car. She never did like them, the trees. All of them were evergreens. They didn't change color when summer faded into fall. The lack of color made her even hate the woods just beyond her father's house. They seemed cold and menacing to her. Their branches looked like spiky needles, utterly unfriendly.

After much trudging, Tempest unlocked the front door. A fire was going in the living room. Her father was no where to be found, which meant he was else where. Beatrix sat in a cushioned arm chair, her sock-covered feet propped up on an old leather ottoman. She looked up from the book she was reading. Her red-framed glasses had slid down from their proper place and found their way down to the tip of her nose. Beatrix turned head towards Tempest while she removed her soaking coat and shoes.

"You didn't realize it was going to rain, did you?" Beatrix adjusted her glasses, her bright green eyes never leaving the younger woman.

Tempest said not a word. Her lips were drawn into a taut line across her face, neither frowning nor smiling. She had a dead-pan sort of look about her. The water dripping from her hair must have felt like ice because her cheeks were flushed pink as if she had just had stepped out from an ice storm. Immediately, Beatrix put away her book and to Tempest just as the girl began climbing the stairs.

"Is everything...alright, girly? You don't look like yourself. Do you need a doctor because I can get one straight away," she asked as she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes watched for any sign from Tempest's body that something was amiss.

Tempest didn't answer at first. She was silent until she was half way up the staircase.

"I'm okay. I'm really tired, that's all. There's no need to make a fuss over little ole me. I'll be find in the morning. Good-night." And then she disappeared upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

The wheels of the metal serving cart echoed against the empty walls of the corridor. Sebastian rapped on the library door. There was no answer. He knocked again.

"Enter." Ciel's voice came from the other side of the door.

Sebastian opened the library door. It was swung open with a lonely creak. The library was overly neat. Nothing out of place. The piles of books that had been laid on Ciel's desk had suddenly vanished and replaced on the many shelves built into the walls. The butler found his master standing by the window, staring out into nothingness for the umpteenth time in the past three months. It was the same window Ciel watched out of. This time around, there was pattering against the windowpane. Thunder rolled. Sebastian wondered what would happen if Tempest was still around. Would he find Ciel comforting her in the quiet solitude of the library? Sebastian got rid of the thought at once. Ciel made no mention of her name, not even once. Not that he didn't find enjoyment in wounding his young master, but this didn't seem to be an opportune moment to amuse himself with his master's pain. He been acting most strangely as of late. Completely out of character, Sebastian admitted only to himself. Ciel's strange behavior was not that much different from the first few weeks upon meeting Tempest Stayne. Now, however, he was nearly silent.

"I thought that some lemon Darjeeling tea might be suitable for this rainy day. It might cheer you up, young master. I have some apple pie a la mode, fresh from the oven." Sebastian poured the tea with skilled hands, never wasting even a single drop.

The tea cup wast placed on the desk. Ciel sighed, but stood there at his post for several minutes more. When he did turn about face, he took his chair immediately and sipped his tea. The small pie was set before him. Ciel took small bites, but he seemed displeased for some reason for another. It could not have been the tea or the pie. Even as a demon, Ciel's appetite for tea and deserts never disappeared even as he grew an appetite for things other than food and drink. An appetite of the soul variety, to be exact. And Sebastian knew what his master liked and disliked, what he tried and what he vowed never to digest again. It couldn't have been Sebastian's cooking. Come to think of it, it had been a while since Ciel had a soul to eat. Not in a few months.

"Young master, do forgive me if I'm stepping my boundaries, but might I recommend you eat something."

Ciel scooped another piece of pie and glared at him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Sebastian cleared his throat. "Forgive me, sir, but that's not quite what I meant. What I meant to ask is when was the last time you had a soul to eat? Perhaps your temperament might improve if you had one?"

Sebastian stood silently as Ciel ate and drank, still with the etiquette of a high-class Victorian lord. When finished, Ciel set aside the dishes for Sebastian to take up and place on the serving cart.

Ciel leaned back in his chair.

"I suppose your right. It has been too long."

Sebastian saw the glow of his master's good eye and smirked.

"I shall have the preparations done immediately."

* * *

It was a dark, stormy, night in the city. Streets were nearly empty. Neon signs and the bright lights of the city remained on. Their shadows stretched across the cement jungle. Sebastian walked behind Ciel. Even though they were both demons and even though Sebastian was technically Ciel's senior, the young master took great strides. The need for a soul was pressing against his brain. He was walking well ahead of his servant. In the rain, Sebastian did his best to catch up with him. It was much easier in the current state of weather. It was chilly tonight and very wet. Many had decided to stay indoors. Sebastian had learned that catching a cab in the rain was rather difficult. Nearly impossible.

It was a perfect night.

With so few people on the streets, no one would suspect them of anything. The only thing they had to worry about were grim reapers, trying to protect the souls of the living from a demon's hungry mouth. Surely by now, the New York Grim Reaper Society knew of Ciel's residency in their district. It was pretty obvious with Tempest as his house guest for several months. He suspected that the American reapers stood aside solely because Tempest was Undertaker's only child. Without her, there was no reason for them not to attack. One wrong move made by him, and they would have the right reasons to kill him on the spot. So, tonight he would play it safer than usual.

The cold wind left him unaffected. The pea coat about his form was merely for disguise. Ciel had no need of it physically speaking of course. He could have left the house in the clothes he was wearing, never mind the coat. But people would find it strange to see a boy walking around without a coat.

Ciel and Sebastian made their way towards Brooklyn, to where most souls in New York City wouldn't be missed. Someone from Manhattan would surely be noticed. It would be simple enough to find a homeless man or a dealer who wouldn't be missed. Their disappearance might even be appreciated. No one would think twice about a bum on the streets in a city as big as New York and no one would bother about the death of an addict or a drug dealer. In the mean streets of New York, Ciel learned, life was cold and people unfeeling. Americans were said to have pity on the 'humbled, hungry masses.' They did not live up to Ms. Lazarus' standards. As long he picked off those who didn't matter to society, it almost felt like a public service.

Sebastian stopped him in front of a shabby apartment building.

"Ms. Clara Goodman, 28 years old, lives on the third floor, fourth door on the left. Single mother of one. Exotic dancer, alcoholic."

Ciel wordlessly climbed the stone steps leading up to the apartment building, not waiting for Sebastian to catch up with him.

No security system, no cameras. Just a cheap chandelier hanging from a cracked ceiling. Its yellow light went out with the snap of his fingers. No sense in drawing attention. A human would fumble in the darkness that descended, but he wasn't human, now was he? To Ciel, it was mere child's play finding his way in the dark. He could see his way around the building without using even an ounce of his power. Finding the stairwell in a matter of seconds, he began climbing. The elevator would be too conspicuous. His moves needed to be silent.

Ciel arrived on the third floor and found the door he was looking for unlocked. He chuckled, shaking his head, wondering how people could be so stupid as to leave their doors unlocked. Was it all Americans that did this or was this woman looking to be a victim?

The door was pushed open easily enough. A floor lamp was the only light within what he believed to be the living room. A woman was slumped in a ratty, old armchair, which owned several gashes on the top, presumably made by a cat. She looked to be a pitiful state. Clothes disheveled, her blonde hair matted, and the pungent smell of sweat and booze running off of her like the smell off a garbage truck on a hot summer day. She was a snorer too. Her snoring was loud and obnoxious, just like half the residents in New Jersey. She might have received more compassion if it had not been for the empty bottles at her feet and the half-empty one still in her hand. Her petite arms were stretched out over the limbs of the armchair. After drinking, she must have slumped there, the closest thing she could find besides the rough, carpeted floor.

Clara Goodman might have been extraordinarily beautiful a few years ago. Something might have made her go over the edge. She didn't look so good now. She barely passed as average. There were the beginnings of frown lines. She had dark circles under her eyes. The make-up on her face was smeared, especially around the eyes. Her face was darkened by the smeared eye-liner. At one point in the evening, Ms. Goodman might have been crying. There were streaks in her eye-liner that rolled down all the way to her chin.

She looked like a sad, little rag doll, tossed around and left abandoned at the playground.

Ciel made his way slowly across the room after shutting the door behind him softly. He made no sound, his footsteps light as a feather, lighter even.

He had his gloved hands over her mouth and nose. It would be an easy kill. She was too drunk to wake up in time to fight him. It would take only a few short seconds before she suffocated in her sleep. Medical reports would own it up to the alcohol. Without skin epithelial, there would be no way for anyone to suspect her death to be something other than alcohol poisoning.

"What are you doing to Mommy?" A little voice whimpered.

Ciel pulled his hands away, Clara's breathing returned to normal, but she slept on. Turning his head slowly over his shoulder, he found the daughter, who was no more than five years old. She was dressed in pink pajamas with white lace. Her face was partially covered by an enormous stuffed rabbit. Her small arms were wrapped around the brown furry thing, holding it close to her. It was almost the same size she was. He turned on his feet to face. Ciel opened his mouth to say something, but he was lost for words. He and the little girl stared at each other. He could see the fear in her eyes even as she tried to act brave in front of him.

She stood no higher than three and a half feet, small and fragile like a porcelain doll. She had blonde hair like her mother. Great care had been given to her, unlike the mother in a drunken stupor, sleeping in the chair across the room. Her pig-tails were braided, but several small strands of hair were unkempt. She had just been woken up from her slumber.

Silence filled the room, except for the rain and the mother's snoring. It was a silent stand-off between them.

Ciel could have put the girl to sleep and finish where he started. The girl didn't need to die so young. She would be spared. Perhaps it might have been for the better if her mother died. An alcoholic could not have made for a good candidate for a mother-of-the-year award. Yet, and yet, he found himself incapable of moving, of taking action. He stared at her, puzzled.

Then, eventually he realized why he froze where he stood. The girl looked at him with such pitiful, baby-blue eyes.

It was her eyes that caught his attention. They were almost the same shade and almost the same brightness at Tempest's. He couldn't bring himself to kill her mother. Tempest knew her mother, but it was a tragedy when she was able to see and her mother died just as Tempest's sight was regained. Something human crawled up out of his chest and commandeered command of his brain. He couldn't take the life of this woman, not after he seen her daughter.

He walked up to the girl slowly. She jumped a bit and she was too scared to run. Ciel patted her head.

"I won't do anything more," he paused, "Now sleep."

Almost immediately, the girl fell into a deep slumber. Ciel caught her before she hit the floor. He carried her and her stuffed rabbit into her bedroom. He placed her under the covers. In the morning when she woke up, she would remember nothing.

He quickly made his exit from the apartment altogether, but not before locking the door himself before shutting it behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Staring at the days passed by, with this wound,

Let's go walking together towards the farewell and the vow,

Embracing, no matter what kind of pain.

My beloved, if we never met,

I wouldn't have known even this warmth.

I want to hold your hand...strongly.

Shining days so those should be in the future, not in the past.

Oh my DESTINY, my beloved, be by my side until we die.

Destiny-The Lovers by Versailles Philharmonic Quintet

* * *

The velvet box in front of Beatrix's face was mocking her. She sat at her small desk, glaring at the box Sebastian had given her. Her arms were folded against the hard surface and her chin rested on her wrists. She glared at the box, not because she was curious to what was inside. No, it was mocking her because Ciel wasn't man enough to give it to Tempest in person, and that was bugging Beatrix.

The boy's actions made no sense. Beatrix may not have been the smartest in the bunch, but even she could tell that he wasn't thinking clearly. If he cared so much for her, why did he send her away? From the city that she loved? Was he trying to make her hate him so she would stay away? Admittedly, the past three months were the most peaceful Beatrix had experienced since she joined up the three of them. The lack of demons almost made the move worth it.

Sitting up in the rickety chair, she sighed, frustrated and mad as hell. Her hand went for the box, not caring for Sebastian's instructions. Beatrix examined the box from all angles. It appeared to be a normal three by three inch box with a height of two and a half. The velvet covered the box was real and smooth to the touch. The lid opened with a tiny creak.

"Oh my god," were the only words that Beatrix was able to say before rising her chair abruptly enough for it to crash to the floor and fly from her bedroom.

She closed the box and began searching for Tempest. Beatrix found her in the kitchen, working on another flower arrangement. Tempest looked away from her work, puzzled at Beatrix's flustered state.

"What's up with you? Did you run out of hair spray or something?" She went back to work, snipping the end of a Madonna lily and placing it artfully with the others.

The grim reaper rolled her eyes and slammed the box on the table.

"What's that," Tempest pointed with the floral scissors.

"Open it," Beatrix stated in a blunt manner, more like ordered Tempest to do so.

Tempest didn't give the box a second glance. She continued clipping the raw, rough ends of the flower stems and placing them in the vase.

"I'm a little busy at the moment. Can it wait?"

"It's from Ciel."

Tempest nearly cut open her thumb at the mere mention of his name. Her chest suddenly felt tight, like a boa constrictor wrapped itself around her torso. She pretended to be calm and aloof. After pausing, she placed the lily with the others. Beatrix waited impatiently for Tempest to say or do something, but nothing happened. The girl was pretending that nothing had happened. Like Ciel's name had not just been dropped and her heart wasn't hurting. Beatrix could see it in the younger woman's eyes. They drooped a little when the name fell from her lips.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you."

"Then open the box." Beatrix pushed the velvet box towards her.

Tempest sighed, putting away the stem cutter on the table. She reached for the box, heart pounding. She hoped that Beatrix wouldn't notice the physiological change, but secretly wondered if she could hear the beating of her heart.

The box opened with a tiny creak. A silver necklace glistened off the yellowy light from the overhead lamp. The image of a woman in front of an organ was carved with great skill. Her fingers rested delicately on the keys while her eyes were turned upwards.

"Saint Cecillia, patron saint of singers and musicians." Tempest couldn't help the tears forming in her eyes or ignore the pressing lump in her throat.

The necklace itself much have cost a fortune. She could tell just by looking at it that it wasn't cheap nickel or pewter. The shine and the color were the marks of high grade sterling silver. The skills it took to carve the image of the saint only added to the expense. Looking at the chain, it wasn't cheap either. Tempest knees went weak. She couldn't stand on her own anymore. She back up into the nearest chair, cradling the box between her hands, which rested on her lap. Curious, she flipped over the medal and found yet another saint, Saint Barbara.

"And the patron saint against storms. Why would he-" She couldn't even complete her own sentence. Why did he give her such a gift? Something that was both meaningful and expensive? It was one thing to give her a medal of her patron saints, but this was too much. Was he just toying with her emotions again?

"Go to him." Once more Beatrix stated in a blunt tone.

She looked up towards Beatrix. The older woman looked more like an older sister who knew the pain Tempest was suffering and had given her the answer to her unspoken question.

"W-what?"

"Go to him." Beatrix repeated.

"Why should I?" Tempest slammed the box shut.

"Because you know you should."

Tempest furrowed her eyebrows. "How do you know I know what I should do?"

"Because," Beatrix wiped some of Tempest's tears away from her cheek, "you wouldn't be crying over a man you didn't love."

Tempest looked down at her lap, at the velvet box sitting there.

"If he loved me, why did he send me away?" Tempest's voice cracked a little. The lump in her throat was becoming more difficult to bear. It hurt to speak and the tears she tried to hold back won't hold any longer.

"Because he was being a real arse and playing the pathetic, self-pitying prince of gloom and doom in the melodrama we may call your life. He thought he brought about the whole Ravencraft incident by getting involved with that witch. He thought that he was the real reason why you were hurt so badly. Consider it male pride or his sheer lack of confidence in himself. Either way, are you the type of woman who's going to sit on her bum and let him slip away and spend the rest of your life thinking of the what-if's? Or are you going to get up, wipe off those tears, make yourself look pretty, and get yourself to New York to see him?"

Tempest paused. "What do you mean, 'make myself look pretty?'"

Beatrix sighed herself and shook her head. "In case you haven't noticed, sweeting, and I'll be as gentle as possible when I say this, you let yourself go. You don't fix your hair, you don't wash your face, and you don't use any make-up. Not that you _needed _it before. However, a little eye-liner and lip gloss wouldn't hurt."

Tempest wiped her cheeks and around her eyes with the back of her hand.

"But my dad. He can be a little...um, odd, but he's not blind. He'd notice that I'm missing after a while."

"Leave that to me. Just get up stairs and get rid ready."

Tempest went silent for several minutes.

"I don't know." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Beatrix grabbed her shoulders roughly and forced her to look up. The grim reaper looked sternly into her blue eyes, which for some reason regained some of their bright color.

"If you don't go to him, you might not get to later. If you don't go, you may regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but for the rest of your life."

The doubt vanished. Her bright eyes returned. A vague semblance of a smile, one that Beatrix hadn't seen in these three long months, was drawn across her face.

Tempest stood up. Beatrix's arms fell to her side. Tempest held the box in her hands with a tight grip. She turned to the older woman.

"Thank you." She spun on her heels and headed for the stairs.

Beatrix watched her until she disappeared and heard the sound of Tempest's bedroom door swing open and footsteps above her head.

She grinned herself, chuckling. "Young love."


	5. Chapter 5

Heavy rain fell like stones against the car windows. Tempest rapped her fingers against the arm rest, impatient as she never been before. Up ahead, from what would be seen through the brutal downpour, was a least three or more blocks of cars backed up. In all of her years living in the city, Tempest had never seen a traffic jam like this. Between the rain pelting the car and sounds of irritable drivers honking their horns as if that would make the ones in front drive any faster or clear the jam.

"What is going on here?" Beatrix peered through the window shield with difficulty. "Is the pope in town or something?"

Tempest was silent. She had been for some time now. Her silence could have been due to her impatience. She was impatient to see Ciel again. The bags were packed as if he was about to vanish from the face of the earth. No sooner had Beatrix turned on the engine, she found Tempest loading the car.

Her silence could have also meant that she was thinking. Thinking of what to say to him. It couldn't have been as easy as 'I love you and I want to have your demonic hybrid babies.' Well, considering he was a product of the Victorian era, that certainly would not go very well. And also considering Tempest's sentiments, the earlier confession would not have been taken seriously falling out of her mouth. What she was going to tell him had to come straight from the heart, in words that made sense to her and felt just right. Beatrix did not envy her situation and the hardship she must have been going through at this moment.

Suddenly, Tempest unbuckled her seat belt and unlocked the door.

"I'm getting out," she reached out and opened the door.

"It's raining cats and dogs out there!" Beatrix tried to stop her. "You'll catch your death of pneumonia!"

Tempest stuck her head in the car one last time. "Last time I checked, I can't die." And the door was slammed shut behind her.

Beatrix couldn't get out and follow her in order to drag her back into the car. She couldn't leave it in the middle of the road, let alone a traffic jam. Even if she felt like it, the girl was too stubborn to listen to her elders. With her attitude, Beatrix was sure Tempest would walk out in the freezing rain for anything. By the looks of it, the freezing rain didn't effect Tempest at all. She pulled up her hoodie and sprinted in between the honking cars. The grim reaper watched helplessly from the car until the girl could be seen no more.

Beatrix lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. She cracked a window so the smoke could escape.

"You may not be able to die, but you're sure as hell going to get sick." Rubbing her forehead in a exhausted manner. "I swear that girl will be the death of me."

* * *

Tempest's feet pounded against the pavement. She bobbed and weaved out of the way. It was Saturday. Many stores and places of business were still open despite the weather. Many of the bystanders were carrying large bags, no doubt Christmas shopping. It was still two months away, but it was safer to buy gifts before December even began. The streets became less crowded, at least on the side-walks. Traffic was still back up. She couldn't even find the blazing red Cadillac. She rounded a corner and headed for the pricy residency.

_Three more blocks, _she thought to herself as she pushed all of her limbs to their limits.

She couldn't stop. Her body could rest later. All that mattered was seeing his face again, even if he didn't want to see her. She wouldn't take no for answer.

Tempest also had to make him pay for shipping her off without asking her if it was okay. There was no way she was going to let him forget that his move was incredibly stupid. For a boy that was over a hundred years old, Ciel was an idiot when it came to women, but that was given. He was clueless with women and with her. Did he honestly think she'd stay in England like an obedient child? If he did, he had another thing coming.

The rain pelted her even harder. Each and every drop felt like tiny daggers pinching her skin, which was dropping in temperature. Rain soaked through her clothes. The jacket she should have been wearing was still sitting in the back seat of Beatrix's car.

"Idiot," she mumbled to herself after realizing what she had done.

Tempest looked back, but then shook her head and moved on.

"Too late now."

Her feet and legs were starting to feel the sting of fatigue. The air in her chest constricted around her lungs, making breathing all the more difficult. Tempest pulled off into a empty alley, bending over with her hands on her knees and took several deep breaths. She forced her lungs to take in the chilly air, even if it hurt. Using the back of her hand, Tempest wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks and forehead. Once her breathing returned to normal and her chest felt better, Tempest regained herself and started sprinting again. Down this street, movement in the rain was much easier. Fewer people, that is, only one person was running down the street and that person happened to be her. She didn't have to take extra precautions in order to avoid people and thus spend less time trying to avoid them. Tempest slowed down just a little.

The rain seemed to fall harder as she got closer to her goal. She turned a glaring eye towards the darkened skies.

"Whatever you do, don't thunder!" She begged. Tempest turned her head back to earth.

Her feet were aching by the time she reached the end of yet another block. Only one more to go. Looking up, she could barely see the roof top of the small, lonely manor sitting by itself away from its neighbors. Tempest couldn't help but smirk just a little. Her limbs were screaming at her now. Her body couldn't take much more of this torture. With the rain, the chill, and the length she had been running, it was a miracle she hadn't collapsed right there in the middle of side-walk. Yet, she still had a little further to go. If she could go on living without her mother, be violated by her own flesh and blood, be constantly harassed by a demon bent on possessing her, and all the other hellish things she'd been through, a miniature marathon in the freezing rain wasn't going to stop her.

She ran. She ran until the roof appeared above the other houses. Until she spotted the spiked, wrought iron fence and the familiar green yard. The white light on the front porch was like a beacon. Tempest have time to open the gate. Hopping over it with ease, she avoided hurting herself and sprinted towards the door. When she reached the porch, her legs nearly caved in on her. Tempest rested against the wall besides the door, clutching her chest, waiting for the sharp stinging to end. The temperature outside was so cold, she could see her exasperated breath turn to fog and escape from her lips in rapid succession.

After what felt like an eternity, Tempest shuffled over to the door and leaned her front against it. Her body was numb from the cold and exhaustion. It couldn't do much more. Luckily, it didn't have to.

Tempest knocked on the door with her hand almost shaking in the cold. The one thing she was grateful for was being underneath a roof. It wasn't any warmer since she still was out in the cold, but at least she wasn't getting rained on.

Her fist knocked on the door again, louder this time. Yet, no reply. Tempest knocked and knocked until she couldn't lift her hand anymore.

"Sebastian, I know you're home! Let me in this instant!" She yelled at the top of her lungs.

Tempest leaned further into the door. She did not hear footsteps approaching. There was no way she believed that the man couldn't hear her. That butler was a demon for crying out loud! Her eyes spotted the black intercom box neatly nailed to the other wall. Shuffling over there, her now-shaking finger pressed the white circular button. There was a buzzing static sound and a green light went off next to where she pressed.

"Hello? Who might this be?" Sebastian answered.

"You know who it is, Sebastian. Now open the door!" Tempest sounded harsher than she wanted to, but she was trying to make her point across.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Englan-"

"Dammit, man! Either you open the door or I'll bust it down myself! I haven't been sipping tea for the past three months, you know."

There was a moment of silence as if Sebastian was debating on what to do.

"Give me a moment." The green light disappeared.

Tempest was left breathing heavily with her finger firmly against the button. The light turned on again.

"I'll be there shortly." He answered and the light turned off once more.

Tempest eased herself away and went to the door. She saw a shadow against the decorative glass in the door. Sebastian, minus his tailcoat, answered, stood confused and surprised at the young lady's sudden appearance. He looked at her up and down, noting the soaking clothes, shivering limbs and body, and ruined hair clinging to her skin. Her face was paler than usual with her cheeks bright pink from the cold.

Stepping aside, he allowed Tempest to enter the home. At once, he tried to direct her to the living room so she could warm up first, however, she would have none of it. Tempest pushed Sebastian away with a strained effort.

"Where is he?" She looked around for any sign of the one she was looking for.

"In the library," no sooner had he answered her, Tempest was going up the stairs, gripping the railing extra tightly.

Tempest marched up the stairs and towards the corridor, which ended with the library's door. There was a faint glow coming out from beneath the shadowy door. She approached it unhesitatingly. Her hand shook against the cold knob; she burst in without any notice.

At first Ciel was shocked, then his face turned cold. He was sitting at his desk, in the middle of writing. His head turned away from his work when her dripping form entered. He put away his pen and kept an emotionless face about him.

"Why are you here?" He hoped that she would be turned off and flee in the other direction at the tone of his voice.

Instead, Tempest marched angrily towards the desk and planted her wet palms on his desk. The water from her hair dripped down her cheeks and onto his paperwork. Her fiery blue eyes glared at him for the longest time before she spoke.

"You are an idiot." Tempest pronounced each word distinctly.

"I beg your pardon." Ciel found it a little hard to believe that she had come all this way, and by the looks of it, walk in the rain just to say to him those four words.

"Just what the hell were you thinking? Shipping off like a package because your dumb ass thought it was your fault that I got injured. News flash, you big, blue-eyed, childish idiot, I got injured so I could stop her from hurting you. It was my idea, not yours. So stop blaming yourself, already? And let's get one more thing straight, you don't tell me where to live or what to do with my life. You got that? You don't send me away from New York without my permission. You don't send me to live with my father and you certainly don't send me an expensive necklace when you believe that we'll never see each other again. Conflict of interests, dumb ass!"

Ciel was left with gaping eyes and open jaw. He had never thought Tempest capable of such language, especially directed at him. He noticed that her eyes were slightly darker than usual. She was mad, he could tell, and rightfully so. She probably had some sort of vendetta against him now, not that he would blame her for it.

"And one last thing I need to tell you. I didn't travel three thousand miles and ran nearly two miles in the rain just so I could yell at you."

Ciel leaned back in his chair. "What else did you need to say to me?"

Tempest paused. She looked down at her shaking hands. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and exhaled. When she looked up again, her eyes were blazing with confidence.

"I want a contract."


	6. Chapter 6

Ciel's mouth hung wide open. Looking at her eyes, so full of determination, he knew Tempest wouldn't back down easily. Her stubbornness was legendary; the ability to have him give in to whatever her little heart desired even more so. Deep, deep down, deep in the darkest bowels of his heart of hearts, he had been waiting to hear those words from her lips. And yet, he couldn't allow it. Alessandra may have been right. There would be others long after she was dead. Tempest would never be safe, not with her in the open. Her father's house in the rural county was much safer.

"I must ask you to leave now, Miss," he stood up quickly, avoiding her gaze.

Tempest stared at him in shock. He had never called her that. He was doing it all on purpose! If she didn't do something fast, Ciel would walk away from her forever. There must have been something she could do to change his mind, make him see that she wasn't going anywhere without him. Then, she remembered that first night. The theater. Ciel's hand had barely touched the doorknob when Tempest went after him. However, her legs were so weak that she stumbled and landed painfully on her stomach. Ciel didn't even look behind him.

"I'll have Sebastian put in a room for the night. We'll call your father to pick you up in the morning."

His words stung like ice. Tempest lifted herself up off the floor just as the door was opening. It took all of her strength just to get on her knees. The hard wood floor nearly broke her knee caps. She couldn't stand. Her body couldn't take any more exercise. The water dripped down her body in droplets and fell to the floor. Her tears of frustration mingled with the rain falling down the ruined tendrils of hair. She fought past the lump in her throat and opened her lips.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. That's all I ask of you..."

Ciel stopped in the doorway.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning. That's all I ask of you."

Singing became more difficult with note she had to carry. The rain and the cold had temporarily damaged her vocal. There was but one more line she had to sing. She knew Ciel couldn't stand by idly. Her voice was the one thing he couldn't ignore. She knew that for a fact. Or at least, she hoped more than anything in the world that it was true.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too. That's all I ask of you."

For a while, Tempest stared pleadingly at the back of Ciel's head. He frozen there, in the doorway, one foot inside and the other across the threshold. His small, but firm hand gripped the door's wooden panel. He was holding onto it so tightly, she thought he would break it. Tempest closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch him walk away. The sight would be too painful.

The door closed. She couldn't help but cry. Her hopes were dashed.

Then, a familiar hand touched her cheek, a slender finger wiped away her tears with such tenderness that Tempest thought that she was dreaming. She cracked open her eyes only to find Ciel standing there with a faint smile and serious eyes.

"You won't be able to change your mind afterwords. You'll be stuck with me and forever is a long time."

"Like I'll get any takers when guys find out that I have a crush on a demon? Because I think dating a human would not end well." Tempest joked a little.

Ciel pulled her to her feet and half-carried, half-dragged her to his chair. She sighed with relief. He could tell that she was exhausted, but the night wasn't quite finished yet. There was one thing that needed to be done before she could sleep.

"Close your eyes," Ciel spoke with s much warmth as he could muster.

Tempest obeyed reluctantly, but then was approached by the fear of what she might see when she opened them again. Would he look older and if so, by how much? Ten years, twenty? Would he still have those features she had become so accustomed to seeing nearly every day? Would his hair remain that odd shade of black-blue, cut with a rebellious, 'fresh out of bed' style? Would he still have that cerulean eye which she had grown so fond of? Tempest quickly cast aside her fears and put her trust in him as Ciel's bare fingers graced the base of her throat.

"I would like to put the contract where I might be able to see it. However, should you choose to grace the stage again, I'm willing to pick somewhere else as to avoid causing a stir if you go into an audition."

Tempest had to think for a moment. Ciel hadn't moved his hand at all from her throat. He was waiting patiently for her answer, but she guessed where he wanted to put the contract seal. It was as good as place could get.

"Perhaps more towards the side of my neck, so I can hide it underneath a choker or something."

Cold shivers, the good kind, ran along her spine as Ciel's fingers moved swiftly to the right side of her neck.

"This is your last chance, Tempest. Once I leave this mark on you, there's not turning back. We'll be forever linked and you can never be with another man. Are you absolutely certain? It can never be undone."

Tempest's lips trembled, but from the depths of her heart this felt so right. In a matter of minutes, she could give him her whole heart, nothing withheld.

Keeping her eyes shut with the utmost strength of her will, she nodded.

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life. This is the deal I want to make with you and only you. Nothing anyone can say or do will change my mind. Not even you."

"You're a strong woman. You'll need that strength very soon," he paused before continuing. "I have been told that this kind of contract is rather painful, but I will do my best to make it easier for you to handle."

"No," Tempest said all of a sudden, surprising him, "I don't mind pain. It reminds you that you're still alive. Besides, I want to remember this day, even if it hurts."

Ciel admired Tempest and her strength. She had grown to love her new self and to be brave on her own, and not just act it. She no longer required a stage. Tempest could hold her head high and face anything. He particularly admired her words. He had used similar ones.

"Are there any specific conditions you would like to add?" Ciel glanced at her face, which was firm with certainty and determination.

"Just, just give me the fidelity, respect, and love you aspect of me," she answered.

"As you wish."

Tempest nervously nodded. It was really going to happen. They'd be bound together forever and he could never change back or send her away again. Her stomach became knotted and twisted with anxiety and excitement like she'd never felt before. She could feel her heart racing. The blood in her veins throbbed.

'Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before,' the terror of the unknown. For some reason, Edgar Allan Poe popped inside her head. Yet, Tempest drank deeply of this poison give her. Her body gave way to soft tremblings, but only because she never felt such exhilaration before.

"Forgive me," Ciel whispered.

Tempest inhaled sharply through her mouth as an intense heat wrapped its iron grip throughout her whole neck. Her hands instantly groped for something solid to cling to as she was sent tumbling down the rabbit hole. Or rather, down that path into darkness deep as Hell. Like being led blindly to the lair of the Phantom of the Opera, Tempest was terrified of what was to come, yet completely trusted her guide. She wandered deeper and deeper still into that black abyss, while the white-hot, searing heat coursed through every vein, artery, and vessel until her whole body felt like it had been set on fire. Her hands somehow managed to find Ciel's, the same hand infusing the contract seal deep into her flesh. She gripped his arm tightly, holding on to dear life. He didn't lie. It did hurt. However, the pain was worth it.

As in a furnace and gold was being purified by its fire, something stirred within Tempest's being as the heart soared to ever higher temperatures. Something new, something grand made its presence known within her very self. This something, whatever it may have been or called, gave her the strength to endure just a little longer. She made no cry or plea or even shed anymore tears. Somehow, Tempest forced herself to take all the pain. An normal person would have screamed as they suffered or passed out all together. This searing heat was hotter than hell-fire, yet with the purifying essence of purgatory charging through one's body. But, no words could perfectly describe how hot the heat really was.

Ciel remained silent while he watched Tempest endure the pain. As the seal formed on the surface of her milky throat, he couldn't ignore his own transformation. His body grew just as he began to seal their fates together. He was changing according to how she willed, but he didn't mind. In less than a year, Ciel Phantomhive became clay in her hands. And the circumstances weren't going to change.

The seal finally glowed with a blue light, signaling to him that the contract was complete. He lowered his hand. He went down on his knees, he reached out and lightly touched Tempest's pink-hued cheek. Her skin felt hot to the touch.

Tempest saw a blue light burst through the blackness. A hand gently caressed her cheek. Not surprisingly, her neck was just a little sore, but not a lot, which was the surprising part. The heat slowed down in her body. It may be a while, she assumed, before her body returned to normal. She felt her face being held between two hands. These hands felt strange, and yet familiar at the same time.

"You can open them now." A voice like velvet sounded in her ears, leaving behind a pleasant sensation in her brain. She wanted to hear more of it.

Tempest's eyes fluttered open. First she saw a mouth, then a nose, and then a cerulean eye with its mate hidden behind a veil of blue-black hair. The person before her greeted her with a charming smile. In disbelief, Tempest reached out to touch him. To see if he was real.

Ciel's face was elongated, giving him a more mature and refined face. His eye was no longer round and child-like, but slanted, with a devilish personality hiding beyond the iris. The cerulean color turned a shade or two darker. Tempest stared, unblinking, until she felt as if she could drown in the ocean of his eye. The hair, though thicker, was cut only to frame his new face. In truth, it looked no different from the second Tempest closed her eyes. Now, it gave him a Byronic-hero sort of look. Never in her dreams could she have envisioned him like this!

The new Ciel rose to his feet, bringing Tempest with him. She had become so speechless that he found her hypnotized face amusing. He was drawn to the contract seal on her throat. Tempest's seal was formed like the Tudor rose with the tips of the petals extra sharp. From a distance, it looked like a regular rose-shaped tattoo. Only on further inspection would one be able to see that the petals formed a pentacle. The color of the seal was rather fitting: a dark blue. He kissed the seal with but a feather touch and felt her still sensitive skin shiver beneath his lips.

His fingers found their way through the sopping wet mess of her hair. She would have to dry off soon and warm herself by the fireplace. Even she could still get sick. Grim reapers weren't immune to germs as far as his knowledge went.

Their faces stood a nano inch part. Their breathing was in sync with the other. Ciel leaned in, half-expecting Tempest to push him away. She remained still and put her hands behind his neck, edging him close. Without hesitation, he kissed her. She belonged to him and he to her. Nothing above, underneath them, or on the earthly plane had the power to separate them. Ciel kissed her faster, begging with his lips to return the display of affection. For a split second, she reconsidered. Suddenly, Tempest pulled him closer and for the first time...kissed him back.


	7. Chapter 7

The kiss didn't last long. Tempest's lips went limp, as did the rest of her. Her soaking wet body slumped against his. The water weighed her down so much more than he expected. Ciel looked down at her face, which was half-hidden in her hair. Her cheeks were bright pink, flushed. Her skin was cold to the touch, but her breathing was normal. Ciel lifted her legs off the floor and carried her out of the library. He hated to say it, however sooner or later she had to be changed out of her wet clothes and warmed up. Rigid Victorian morale still held a tight grip on him. He couldn't just simply undress her like it meant nothing.

More importantly, it would leave him with too much temptation. Unconscious and very vulnerable, he could barely keep himself from kissing her before, when he still had the body of a child that is.

He laid her out on his bed, but quickly moved away, moving away to fetch Sebastian.

Ciel had climbed down half way down the stairs when the aforementioned butler was opening the door. A familiar lady entered the threshold, weighed down by luggage. Beatrix's chocolate and blonde-streaked hair was frizzy from the rain. The luggage was dropped to the floor with a loud thud. The grim reaper reached up, removed her glasses, and wiped them off with her shirt. Adjusting them to her face, Beatrix removed her coat and tossed it over towards the rack by the door. She missed and the damp outer garment plopped on the floor like a useless rag. Her green eyes flashed upwards, falling on Ciel Phantomhive.

For once, Beatrix Bathory was silent. Her mouth became slightly agape. She rubbed her eyes and then took a second look as if what she had seen was merely an illusion.

"Young mas-"Sebastian stopped himself, who was equally surprised at Ciel's appearance. "Master. You've changed."

Ciel couldn't help but smirk, just a little out of pride.

"She wanted a contract." He stated in a rather simple manner.

"A con-contract?" Beatrix stammered. She had no idea that Tempest was planning to do _that. _"The Grim Reaper Society is not going to like that."

Beatrix found the contract imprint on his left hand. The dark blue nearly glowed against his pale skin. The marking was fresh. She did not envy the demon for the fresh hell Tempest's father was going to put him through. It was the supernatural equivalent of eloping and not telling the parents that you're married without their blessing. Tempest would get off Scot-free. In such a short amount of time, she'd become daddy's little girl. On the other hand, Ciel might not be so lucky. Undertaker was never a man to contend with, whether when he was in a good mood or a bad one. Knowing that emotionally flippant man, he'd likely take Ciel's head clean off with a smile on his face.

"We can deal with that at another hour. For now, I believe there's a young lady in bed who needs some dry clothes," Ciel motioned towards the stairs.

Beatrix nodded, picked up the suitcase again, and started for the stairs, lugging the suitcase with strained effort. Apparently, it was much heavier than it looked.

"Leave it to that girl to pack half of her wardrobe when she doesn't even know how long she's going to be staying someplace," Beatrix grumbled at the top of the stairs.

Beatrix marched to the master bedroom, finding the room unlit, but a sleeping form curled up in the bed. She switched on the lamp on the bedside table. The reaper shook her head wearily. The girl sleeping soundly in bed gave her such headaches. Suppose that was the price you pay for having a best friend such as Tempest.

She opened the trunk and looked for a nightgown and underwear. She guessed that Tempest let herself get soaked through all of her clothing. The shoes were removed and the socks were slipped off. Beatrix dried off Tempest's long hair with a towel she fetched from the bathroom. Taking off the rest of her clothing was easy. The difficult part was redressing her. At one point as Beatrix was slipping the nightgown over her head, Tempest slumped right on top of her. Beatrix groaned at the extra weight.

"It's a good thing you're unconscious when I say this," she pulled the gown further until it reached mid-thigh, "somebody needs to lay off the ice-cream for a while."

Tempest turned in her sleep, her neck extended. In the lamp light, Beatrix got a full view of the contract seal. The dark blue was marred into the young woman's flesh. The reaper exhaled sharply. She was still recovering from her surprise. The sight of the seal caused a shiver down Beatrix's spine. There was some doubt that Tempest would actually go through with it. She must have truly love Ciel and was willing to spend the rest of eternity with him, not to mention be ostracized from the Grim Reaper Society. Although, that might have been seen as a bonus with the contract. Beatrix couldn't help wander what Undertaker was going to say.

She tucked the sleeping girl under the covers and then watched her pull them closer to her body. Beatrix gathered up the wet clothes on the floor and tossed them in the hamper on her way out. She was reaching for the door when it was pushed open by Ciel. Beatrix remained frozen there for a long while. Her sharp eyes stared at him up and down, trying to find some evidence that his new body was just an illusion. She remembered the seal on Tempest's neck.

It was no illusion.

"Ciel, there's been something I've been hiding from you for the longest. I just wasn't sure how you would react." Beatrix started.

"And what is that?" Ciel seemed distracted.

Beatrix saw his gaze look beyond her shoulder and at the sleeping figure. He seemed impatient, so she decided to continue before he moved her forcibly.

"You were engaged once, weren't you?" Beatrix folded her arms across her chest.

"Yes. As a grim reaper shouldn't you know that?" His voice irate.

"I started reaping souls when I was 32. And in 1948, I was assigned to reap the soul of your fiance, Elizabeth Midford, then Elizabeth Arlington. I saw all of her life and from what I saw, her happiest days were the ones spent with you. She cared deeply for you and it took a lot for her to move on."

Beatrix pointed her index finger warningly in his face.

"Which means if you screw up like you did with that fiance of yours, I'm going to reap what little soul you have left and feed it to that man-servant you've got downstairs. Do we have an accord, Phantomhive?"

Ciel nodded. Beatrix was no Undertaker, but the woman wasn't to be trifled with either.

"I understand."

They brushed passed each other as they went the opposite way of each through the door. Beatrix shut the door behind. As she passed through, she tossed Ciel a warning glare from the top of her glasses. Almost as if to say, "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Once the door was closed, Ciel pulled up a chair by the bedside. He crossed his fingers and rested his elbows on the mattress, his hands placed over his lips. Sitting there, watching her sleep like it was the most fascinating television program. He didn't stare perversely as she slept. His gaze was really more like a admiring glance. All that effort had not been wasted. She still had no idea that this whole thing had been planned out from the beginning.

To elaborate, while Tempest remained in a coma, the witch's flower shop had burned down. The human world saw it as a freak accident or, at worst, a double homicide and arson. Ciel knew for a fact that it was a murder-suicide. It wasn't until after Tempest slipped into consciousness did anyone realize that Jacobi had gone missing for three days. On the fourth day, the television showed the wreckage of the flower shop, burnt to ashes. Police found two bodies, that of a woman and a young boy. It had to have gone one of two ways. One, either the witch Lilian had finally lost the last piece of her mind and killed herself and the boy. Or two, Jacobi felt guilty about the Ravencraft incident and did it. Either way, they were both dead, and so too was his magic. A little known fact, a fact that Sebastian had forgotten to mention, was that when a witch is burned at the stake, or otherwise meets an untimely, fiery demise, their magic is destroyed. Curses, spells, and hexes are nullified. Once the source of the magic, ie the witch, was destroyed the spell was no more. They had been so worried about Tempest that they completely forgot until after they found out Jacobi's sudden suicide. By the time they checked the boy's room, the plant was long dead and the seeds were nothing but blackened pods rotting on a desktop.

Ciel smirked. His acting even fooled the actress. Though perhaps he may have gone just a little too far. He may have acted just a bit over the top, but it didn't matter now. He had what he wanted.

Still, he thought as his fingers brushed against the seal, sending goosebumps across Tempest's skin, would she have been so willing if she knew his past, and all the ghosts and shadowy figures that threatened to come back and haunt him?


	8. Chapter 8

Beatrix wandered into the kitchen for a bottle of rum. She'd been holding herself back from any form of alcohol, just for Tempest. Now that she was fast asleep, Beatrix supposed that presently would be a good time for a drink. Checking the fridge and finding no rum there, she sighed. Only water and and some milk. She didn't expect bottles of beer to be sitting somewhere, or anywhere, in the fridge. She closed the door, only to be startled half to way to herself; humans would have said half to death, but since she was technically death, that phrase couldn't apply to her. A pair of familiar red eyes were staring down at her. Beatrix was clutching a hand over her heart.

"Jeez, ninjas make more noise than you. Quit it." She huffed, running the other hand through her hair.

"I apologize, Miss Bathory. I was merely wondering where you had gotten and then I found you in the kitchen. Are you looking for something in particular?"

Beatrix looked at him suspiciously. He was never this polite before. He wanted something. Men only acted nice when they wanted something. At least, the men she knew of. Cocking her eyebrow, she leaned against the refrigerator.

"A drink."

"What would you like?" He added with his most charming of smiles.

Yep, he wanted something alright.

"The strongest liquor you've got. After what I just saw, I need a drink."

Sebastian walked around her and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. He unlocked it and pulled out a bottle of red wine. The cabinet door was closed and locked again. He spun on his heels, walking to the other side of the kitchen, and opened yet another cabinet door. Beatrix expected him to take out only one wine glass, but instead she was mildly surprised to see that he pulled out two. Sebastian returned to where he left the wine bottle. Beatrix stopped paying him any attention. She heard the cork be unplugged with an audible pop and then the sloshing of wine being poured into the glasses. The bottle was replaced and the cabinet locked.

The butler reappeared in front of her, handing her one glass. She eyed it suspiciously, but took it anyway. He did not leave her. Sebastian held up his glass in the air as if for a toast.

"Should you be drinking? You're supposed to be the world's greatest butler, aren't you? Do you think it's wise to have a drink while you're on the job?"

"The young- the master," Sebastian corrected himself. "has become far less rigid. Besides I believe this is an occasion to celebrate. A toast."

"To what?" Beatrix scoffed.

"To the happy couple. To the blissful eternity that awaits them. To many children."

"To death." Beatrix added.

"Why death?" He asked.

Beatrix raised her glass. "Because had Tempest been a completely normal mortal being, the contract could not have worked. She is immortal because her father is death, therefore, death should be toasted too, correct?"

He chuckled, "Indeed."

They clinked glasses, making the crystal sing with just a light tap.

They gulped down the contents in one go. Beatrix finished hers first and slammed her glass on the near-by counter. Sebastian set his empty glass next to hers. One of his gloved hands, passed over the hand that she was using to lean against the counter. The reaper tried to ignore the heat rushing over her skin. Reluctantly, she had missed that feeling Sebastian gave her. It had been only a one-night stand, one little fling, an afternoon delight, though they both ended up paying for it because Mister Sneaky Butler Man decided to play matchmaker and put Tempest in his master's bed, which sounded far more inappropriate than it actually was. Still, he was right about one thing. She liked to break the rules. As a grim reaper, sleeping with a demon was breaking a lot of rules.

Without thinking, without a word, Beatrix kissed him hard on the lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening. True, he was hoping that it would happen, but not so soon. He smirked against her lips and began kissing her back. He moved the glasses out of the way, hoisting Beatrix by the waist so that she sat on the counter. He removed his gloves as their mouths were seemingly glued together. They didn't need to stop for air. Beatrix's long nails scraped at the nape of his neck, digging into his skin and pulling at his hair.

He pulled away suddenly. His glanced at her pouty lips, wet with saliva and glistening in the light. She glared at him.

"You like breaking the rules, don't you, Beatrix?" He asked in a mocking tone.

Her nails dug deeper into his neck, if that was even possible.

"I thought we've been through this before." She replied crossly.

"I know," Sebastian leaned in closer to her so that their noses touched, "but I want you to say it again."

"Sadist."

He grinned with a devious look in his eyes. Beatrix knew just by looking at them that he would not let her go anywhere without saying what he wanted to hear.

"Yes," Beatrix sighed, sounding more irritated than she meant to be, "I like breaking the rules. I'm her best friend and you're now, technically speaking, her butler and I'm also a reaper. So I'm breaking _a lot _ of rules here. But do you honestly care?"

Sebastian silenced her quickly with a searing kiss, moving his expert tongue round the caverns of her mouth. His bare hands groped at her damp jacket. The buttons down her front were undone in an instant. He moved the jacket slowly down her arms til he fell to a heap on the floor. His lips made their way down her neck, pecking, biting, and even licking their way down her throat.

"Aren't you a little trouble maker?" He whispered against her ear.


	9. Chapter 9

I'll make this a brief author's note. I greatly appreciate your reviews, I only wish there were more of them. I don't get paid to do this you know. I only write fanfictions for practice in writing fiction at all. Seriously, more reviews. Second, I know that there have been quite a few filler chapters and there's one more coming up. Please stick with me and I promise you will not regret it. The story plot will indeed remind you of something, but I shan't reveal anything yet. I have several ideas in the works, be patient my little darlings! And to answer the most frequently asked questions:

1. Peaceful future for Ciel and Tempest's relationship? Slow down, crazy, slow down. What would this story be if I ended it like that? It's like the ninth chapter and I'm not stopping there. Who knows how far I can take this, but one thing's for sure is that I won't leave them all lovey-dovey for much longer. Don't forget, they're from opposite ends of the social ladder. She's from Brooklyn and he's an aristocrat from Victorian England. Not only will there be personal issues, but also some externals ones. Naturally, there will be new, and old, villains. I'll give you a spoiler and say that there's going to be necromancers, psychopathic demons, dreaded ex-classmates, and serial killers in the near and far future. Don't even conceive of the thought that it's going to be a nice honey-moon at a beach in Hawaii.

2. Opponents to their love? Duh, besides William, there will be quite a few people who are opposed to their union. I'm even fiddling with the idea of letting Grell see what the new Ciel looks like and find out what his/her reaction would be. (It's so hard to describe him/her. I don't even know which pronoun to use).

3. Jacobi? In case you're still wondering about what happened to him, read chapter seven. It explains the whole thing. I'm not even going to go any further about that.

4. Will Tempest return to the stage? I'm still fiddling with that. Maybe, maybe not. I haven't decided yet.

5. This isn't so much as answer to a question, it's just a note I'd like to put out there so nobody gets confused. The relationship between Beatrix and Sebastian is, at this point in time, purely a sexual one. They're in lust with each other not love. Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

Sunlight creeped its way over the covers of the four-poster bed, warming it. Tempest's squinted at the bright light. She reached out across the bed to feel the warmth of the sheets and blankets beneath her touch. Turning over to her side, Tempest looked at the bedside table where a clunky, ornate clock sat beside the lamp. The long hand was on the two with its shorter partner on the 12. It took a moment to figure out that it was ten minutes at noon. She had nearly forgotten how to read those kinds of clocks. Tempest had gotten used to seeing analog clocks more than digital ones in all the months under the Phantomhive roof. Ciel seemed to prefer them to their modern counterparts.

She carefully sat up in bed, stretching the aching muscles. Tempest was a little shocked to find her wet clothes were replaced by one of nightgowns. Sitting there in bed, she thought and thought some more, trying to remember if anything happened last night. She had been running on an emotional high when was talking to Ciel, but she thought that what happened next was part of a dream. Tempest didn't believe that she was dreaming at this very moment. She knew where she was and the tense pain in her thighs and calves was enough to let her know this wasn't a dream and she wasn't asleep.

Tossing away the covers, Tempest swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She cringed a little as her feet touched the solid oak floor. If the soles of her feet could talk, they'd be screaming at her right about now. In fact, if any of her muscles or limbs could talk they would have been able to form an angry mob. Each inch of her body was sore from the neck down. Even her fingers ached and each knuckle in her hands and feet seemed to groan. Nevertheless, she hobbled slowly to the bathroom, using anything solid to lean on as she walked. The door had been left open, perhaps by accident or on purpose. Either way, it mattered but little to her.

Tempest's eyes were already well adjust to the sunlight. Flipping the switch and illuminating the room didn't cause any further discomfort. She faced the mirror, out of curiosity, to see if _it_ was really there.

Sure enough, as her big blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror's reflection, they traveled downward. A blue rose shaped like a pentagram marred her skin like a tattoo. Only this one wouldn't come up with a little laser surgery. Tempest lifted her hand to touch it, to feel it, to know what it felt like to be marked as a demon's lover. The dark blue color made the skin of her neck paler by contrast.

Then she smiled.

Things would be different. Ciel would always be there. She didn't have to be afraid of anything or anyone. Come hell or high water, she didn't have to be alone. True, she had a father now and a friend in Beatrix. However, neither one of them could take the place of the demon that burrowed his way into her heart. There was something that he always had that made her love him, even if he didn't always show his humanity. After a long and tumultuous roller-coaster ride, it was finally over. There wasn't anything that could be done to erase her decision.

Speaking of fathers, Tempest wondered just what hers would say. She had a feeling that he and Ciel were on friendly terms, but just how friendly would he remain when she told of her contract to Ciel? Tempest hadn't been around him long enough to know what he really was like, even after three months of living with him. She had heard horror stories from the grim reapers that she met. Hoping that they were merely exaggerated tales, Tempest returned to the master bedroom.

Her suitcase lay on the floor not too far from the bed. She assumed that was where her nightgown had come from. At least, she wished, it had been Beatrix who changed her clothes. The suitcase was there and the reaper was the one who had it in her car. It couldn't have been anyone else. Popping it open, Tempest rummaged for some clean shirt, some jeans, socks, and underwear. Beatrix complained that she brought along too much, but in light of the wet circumstances, it had been a good idea to bring extra clothes all along. She found what she wanted and changed herself. The aching in her, well, everywhere, made the process take longer than it normally would have. Had she'd known that running in the rain was going to cause this much torment in her muscles and joints, Tempest might have tried to hail a cab.

_Ha,_ Tempest thought. _Hailing a cab in the rain is like winning lottery. It almost never happens._

Once more, she sat in the bed, with one leg over the other as she pulled on a black sock over her foot and then the other one. She stood away from the bed, closed her suitcase, and walked out the door, still walking at a slow pace. From the hallway, she heard the sounds of people coming from the dining room. Tempest made her way carefully down the staircase, gripping the banister tightly, but not too tight. The knuckles in her hands ached for some reason or another. It could have been that she spent too much time in the rain or she banged on the door too hard, desperately trying to get Sebastian to open the front door before she spotted the intercom box.

The voices grew louder until she opened the dining room door and made her presence known. Ciel rose from his chair immediately as she entered. Tempest put on a grimacing smile as she walked. She'd rather not have him fuss over her like she had broken her leg or something. It didn't work very well. He nodded to Sebastian who was busy pouring fresh coffee into an empty cup at an empty seat, presumably the one Tempest was about to take. The butler rushed to her side, however before he could even lend her a hand in walking, she shook her hand.

"No, no. I got dressed by myself, the least I can do is get to the table by myself." She brushed against him, masking her pain.

When she finally sat down at the empty chair, Tempest didn't bother sitting up like a proper lady. She leaned her back nearly all the way, almost sitting at the very end of the chair's cushioned seat. Closing her eyes, she heaved a tired sigh.

"Are you feeling alright?" She heard Ciel's voice ask.

Tempest nodded briefly. "To be perfectly honest, everything below my chin hurts. My knees ache, my legs feel like jello, and my feet probably hate me now. But other than that."

He chuckled. She heard him sit down again. "You won't be running marathons any time soon, now will you?"

Tempest couldn't help but laugh a little herself. She opened her eyes again, finding the chair across from her empty, which was usually where Beatrix sat for meals. She sat up and grabbed the porcelain cup of coffee. After blowing on it, she took a sip, all the time wondering where the reaper had gotten to. The woman never missed a meal. Beatrix had quite the appetite for a woman.

"Where's Beatrix? It's not like her to skip out on free food." Tempest drank more of her coffee.

The three eyes in the room all looked towards Sebastian. He feigned skillfully a look of surprise and innocence.

"Why I haven't the faintest idea," he replied with a coy smile. "She came in the kitchen shortly after you were put to bed. Then went off to bed herself, rather tired I might add. Like she had gotten herself into a frenzy and lost all her energy."


	10. Chapter 10

There was a banging on the front door just as Tempest was in mid-chew of her buttered waffles smothered in syrup. Sebastian didn't even have time to leave the dinning hall before Beatrix, bedraggled, out of breath, and utterly and completely disheveled came running, or more accurately, barging in, wearing nothing but her bathrobe and one fuzzy, red house slipper.

She slammed shut the dining hall doors, panting for breath.

"Whatever is the matter, Bathory?" Sebastian asked in a snide tone. "Did you see yourself in a reflection?"

Beatrix shook her head nervously. Her glasses nearly slipped off the tip of her nose.

"W-worse," was all she could mutter.

"Who was at the door," Tempest asked before taking another bite from her waffles.

"I- I might have told your father about your contract not a few moments ago." The grim reaper replied with a sheepish grin.

Tempest nearly choked on her food and Ciel glared at her.

"So you're telling us that an all-powerful grim reaper with a giant scythe and possible psychopathic tendencies is marching into my house as we speak?"

"Pretty much."

Tempest buried her face in her hand, resting her elbow on the table. This would only end in tears for somebody.

Sighing she stood up, and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ciel wondered in a worried tone.

"He'll listen to me. Maybe I'll be able to calm him down some and explain to him in a rational manner that he is not allowed to kill you and that the contract was my idea to begin with."

There was a long, pregnant pause for silence.

"She's got a point. If anyone can get him to cool it, it'll be his own flesh and blood." Beatrix suggested as she fixed her bathrobe so that her incredibly tight and small pajamas underneath would not show.

"He won't lift a violent finger towards me. I promise." Tempest reassured him.

Ciel sat back, uneasily, into his chair. Undertaker was unpredictable. Perhaps, it was true that he'd never lay a hand on his daughter. But there were other things he could do without harming her and there was nothing more frightening than a father's rage against a daughter's current boyfriend, or whatever one might their relationship. This was an entirely new situation to all of them. Undertaker never had a daughter before and Ciel had never been in a relationship outside a mandatory engagement to his cousin. The air was thick with tension. One could practically cut it with a knife.

Ciel watched Tempest open the dining room door and glide past the grim reaper in the black bathrobe, who was running her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair like a comb. There several minutes of silence after the front door was answered. There was some murmuring, but he thought it best not to eavesdrop. It was certainly not the way to get on Undertaker's good side. Although the man smiled all the time, there were moments where his insanity sent shivers down the young lord's spine. He wasn't even aware of what Undertaker looked like without a smile. And he sort of hoped that he'd never find out.

Tempest's footsteps were occupied by a heavier pair, a man's. Beatrix quickly hid behind the butler in the hopes of using him a demonic shield. She cowered behind him and grabbed the back of his tailcoat tightly in her red-painted, manicured hands.

They entered quietly. Standing side by side, the similarities were uncanny. She had his lithe bone-structure, cheek bones, and even his thin and feminine nose. The shape of her eyes were very close to his, but the blue color threw it off. Her father stood a good five or six inches taller than her, without the hat. Tempest appeared as calm and cool as a cucumber. How Undertaker appeared was a different story entirely. There was nothing about him that gave off the air of an enraged, over-protective father or a father who was over-compensating. He stood still as a corpse, barely breathing, and his dark gray robes hiding any sort of negative body language. Undertaker was an emotional enigma.

His green eyes peered out from underneath his silvery bangs, darting towards the head of the table. Sebastian tensed up a bit when he saw the look on Undertaker's face. It was a good thing that his hands were not occupied.

Undertaker walked to the table, eyes dead set on Ciel. Tempest tried to stop him, but her pleas fell to deaf ears. Her father pulled out his death scythe out of the thin air like a true magi. The sharp blade heading straight for Ciel Phantomhive's neck.

"Young master." Sebastian called out as a sort of an old habit that he had yet to break.

There was a metallic clang, like metal meeting metal. Sebastian was by his master's side, only to find out that he was not needed. When everyone came to their senses, it was Tempest who had jumped in front of Ciel once more, but this time her sword came in handy. The blade of her father's scythe was barely and inch away from Ciel's throat, but Tempest's blade and sheath blocked it from coming any closer.

She seemed to be struggling against her father. Beads of sweat began rolling down her forehead. The strain in her muscles meant that she couldn't hold him back for very long.

Ciel sat in his chair, speechless, which was extremely rare. He stared down at the scythe blade that nearly ripped his throat open. Very few things could kill a demon. Unfortunately one of those things happened to be a grim reaper's death scythe, the same thing pointed dangerously at his neck. However, the most extraordinary thing he found was how Tempest had managed to move so quickly, despite her fatigued body. How on earth did she manage to react faster than his own butler? Did she acquire some new powers while she was away for three months?

The sound of Tempest's voice speaking made him look away from his reflection in the scythe's blade.

"Dad, I know you and I are both new to the whole 'father-daughter relationship' thing, but, um, generally speaking, it's not okay to kill the man your daughter is in love with." Tempest pushed against the grim-looking, skeletal scythe. "More importantly, I was the one who asked for it. He had nothing to do with the making of my own decision. Alright? I asked him and he didn't pressure me to do it. So please, can we all just put down our weapons and have breakfast like civilized people?"

Undertaker's scythe vanished into thin air. Tempest lowered her arms with a heavy, but relaxed sigh. Her sword disappeared too. She plopped down in her chair again, exhausted. Her father took a seat across from her. Beatrix didn't want to protest. She was still waiting for her punishment or death threat from Undertaker herself. The younger grim reaper simply sat down silently next to Tempest rather than sit on the same side as Undertaker, just to be on the safe side.


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Tempest decided to do after breakfast, besides keeping her father from cutting Ciel's head off when her back was turned, was to visit her mother's grave. It had been three whole months since she last saw her. Perhaps, if she could hear her, Tempest thought it best to ask for her mom's blessing, even from beyond the grave.

The leaves crunched underneath her feet. She wore all black and carried a bouquet of white daffodils cradled in her arms. It was difficult to find a store that still had them so deep in autumn weather. A hand fixed her long scarf as a gust of wind blew chillingly against her. Tempest shivered beneath her coat and touched the hand on her scarf. Ciel had been walking beside her the entire time, silent all the way, as if in quiet contemplation. She felt her pulse quicken as her fingers glided over his leather covered hand. She hoped that he did not hear it.

They slowly walked along the rows of graves and memorials. Flowers were dying off as the coldness of a harsh winter was fast approaching. Vases were left with withering flowers and ferns. Roses were more common now in this time of year. It made sense. The rose was probably a flower that was popular year round. There were some graves that owned a statue of some saint or the Virgin Mary. Others were left alone, most likely because they were so old that anyone who remembered them were long gone or became their neighbors elsewhere in the cemetery. The day seemed unusually bright and warm for late October, besides the occasional gust of wind. Nobody else was there. It was only these two, a demon and his contracted mate, for a lack of a better word. The idea of asking for a dead woman's blessing was somewhat ludicrous to him, but he kept his mouth shout. He couldn't say anything of the sort out loud and risk Tempest hating him. There other issues they would have discuss, but that would have to wait for a while. Just until she became adjusted to their new situation. More to the point, this _dead woman_ was Tempest's mother. He wasn't sure about the woman's fate; Sebastian didn't tell him what happened after a soul was devoured. If there was the smallest possibility that Christine McIntyre was somewhere in limbo or purgatory, he didn't want to take any chances by disrespecting her.

"Ciel?" Tempest's voice sounded confused.

He shook himself from his thoughts only to find Tempest pointing out the lonely little cemetery where her mother lay covered in flowers. Ciel thought this strange, but remembered the day after Tempest had left the country, when he went to place flowers on the grave and found others there and that strange chest sitting in front of the tombstone.

"Did you do this?" Tempest asked. She walked hesitantly towards her mother's grave.

There was so many flowers that she couldn't even name them all. They all looked healthy, and it was late fall! Tempest half-wondered if a demon was behind this. The flowers showed no signs of wilting or decay. Not even a single leaf looked to be damaged by the autumn wind blowing in from the coast.

"No. I've left some after you left, but I'm afraid that none of this is my doing." He replied, just as confused as she was.

"But who? It couldn't be my dad. He's been too busy and I'm the only one who's still alive. I'm not sure if my grandpa is still living. And that_ man_ should be in jail."

Tempest spotted something hiding beneath the canopy of flowers. It looked small and wooden, like a box. She bent over and reached for it. She was careful not to hurt any of the flowers, though she doubted that she'd be able to harm them. They were so vibrant and healthy. It was almost as if they were grown in magic soil.

In her hands she held a box. The whole thing spanned three hands width and possibly seven inches deep. The lid had no locks or any sort of mechanism to close it with security. It was a simple lid with rusty hinges.

Tempest, curious, lifted the lid. There was a letter in a envelope and a bunch of dingy cream fabric folded and stuffed into the box. She took the note from taped to the lid and set the box on top of the grave. The letter was read silently, but Ciel could see the confusion and worry forming in her eyes. Her dark brows became furrowed as she looked deep in thought. On any other occasion, he might have said that she looked quite attractive when she looked like that. This wasn't the time, however.

"'The old trunk in the attic where Mother's broken heart was tossed in a box with ballet shoes and dead soldier's clothes. The old trunk in the attic with candles saved from a Girl at the Market, who was once paid to go away. The old trunk in the attic with a dress for a Child, hardly worn, stained in the memory and tears for a name you never learned. The old trunk in the attic where Father's ring lays to rest, your Uncle's nostalgia, and a letter of death and life?'" The note was quickly folded back up and stuffed into her jacket pocket.

Tempest reached into box and took hold of the old fabric. The fabric unfurled as she held it out with both of her hands. The fabric might have been white in color back when it was still new. The coloring may have been off, but the preservation was impeccable. There were no tears or stains, just wrinkles of decades of being folded and packed away in someone's attic, presumably their attic if the strange letter was any indication of the fabrics previous location. The bundle of fabric had a collar and sleeves, making it a long gown for an infant. Nobody put their babies inside clothes like that since the 1800's, except for baptismal gowns. Tempest fiddled with the still-smooth lace decorating the collar of the gown as she tried to find the words to say.

"Do you know anything about this?"

Ciel thought for a moment.

"No. The day after you left. We found a similar note and another baptismal gown. No name. No address. We didn't find any clues about who the sender is and why he or she is so determined to find you. To be honest I haven't given much thought to it for three months."

Tempest stuffed the letter and the gown back into the box and put it under her arms. The bouquet of daffodils were placed neatly on top of the blanket of flowers. She seemed cross as she walked away, her feet stomping slightly.

"What is the matter?" He caught up with her in no time at all.

Ciel saw a shading in Tempest's eyes. Her eyes sometimes turned dark blue when she was upset or angry.

"There's only one person who is able to answer my questions. It's been almost eleven years saw we saw each other last and I still haven't forgiven him. But he's the only one who is still alive that could do _this._" Tempest's voice cracked.

Ciel grabbed her arm gently and pulled her off to the side. He could tell that her heart was beating faster now.

"You don't have to ask him anything. Let me take care of this."

"No!" Tempest said firmly. "I want to see him, face to face and ask him myself. After what he did to me, and now all of a sudden he wants to taunt me, disgrace my mom's grave with his _gifts_. I don't want his pity, but I do want him to answer for he's done and leave me be."

Tempest wriggled out of his grip and stormed away.

Beatrix's red car was waiting for them by the gate. Tempest opened the back passenger door and scooted in, still carrying the wooden box. Ciel came in after her slamming the door shut behind him.

"Please reconsider." He begged.

"Reconsider what?" Beatrix asked as she ignited the engine.

"I need to make a trip to see my uncle in Sing-Sing." Tempest responded in a rather baritone voice.

Beatrix twisted around the driver's seat, one eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"Are you sure about this?"

The last time the subject of her uncle was brought up, Tempest drank herself into a drunken stupor. Beatrix was worried that the girl would fall right back into her old, ugly habits. Did she really want to open up old wounds?

"Just drive." It sounded more like a command than a suggestion, something that Beatrix would like an apology for later.


	12. Chapter 12

"What do you mean, he's on _probation_?" The very word make the contents in her stomach churn and bile run up her throat.

The nervous-looking warden pulled at his collar, looking across from his desk at the young woman, who had just received information, she clearly did not want to hear. Her blue eyes seem to grow darker as she stared at him, hating him and the words that had just fell out of his mouth. The warden, Mr. George Roberto, couldn't blame her for being angry.

"It was all in the paper work we sent you a few months ago, Miss...McIntyre was it?" Mr. Roberto wiped his dark brow with a well-used handkerchief. "Did you not get it? Was it sent to the wrong address or something?"

Tempest slumped in the stiff chair she was sitting in and promptly slapped herself in the face.

"I burned the letter. I thought it was from my uncle." She mumbled.

"Well, um, Miss McIntyre, the charges against your uncle weren't as serious as you were told. He was actually caught in the act of _attempting_ to lure a minor away from her mother at a shopping center."

There was a moment of silence.

"How old was she?" Tempest asked.

"13."

"I see." She added with a look of disgust and rose from her chair. "Thank you for your time." Tempest said to the warden.

Just before she reached the door to leave, Mr. Roberto called after her.

"I can give you the address if you're really the desperate to see him."

"You do realize that I was his first victim, his own _niece?_ How do you know that I'm not looking for him just to shoot him in the head or something?"

Mr. Roberto shook his head lightly. "I am good and judging a man's, or a woman's, character. You do not look like the kind of woman who is out for revenge."

His calm manner and his assurance that she wasn't out for revenge led Tempest to believe that he really did trust her with such information. But even if she did want to kill the sick little man who raped her all those years ago, she could easily get away with it now with Ciel at hand to make the body simply disappear. A pedophile in New York City wouldn't be missed. That wasn't her objective, no. She only wanted for him to leave her alone and to rot in the deepest pit in hell. In actuality, she wanted for him to live a good, long life and be tormented each and every for being the monster that he was. Death would only serve as a relief. However, having almost all of the city against him, would be a much more suitable punishment than that sweet reprieve from the sufferings of the world that only death can provide.

Tempest sat back down in the chair that had bones for the armrest and back. The leather was old and smelled like a retirement home. She played the end of some of the tattered leather on the armrest while Mr. Roberto looked up on his computer and scrambled around his desk for a notepad and something to write with. Tempest mused to herself on how this dreaded meeting would go down. Her memory of him was foggy at best and completely blank at worst. The only time she saw him was when her eyes didn't function and all the colors and shapes everyone else could perceive clearly were just a bunch blobs to her. She knew that he was white and that he had reddish brown hair, possibly in his fifties by now. The only photographs of him were shredded, burned, and thrown away. Her mother refused to even look at picture of her own brother. Considering the circumstances, it would be perfectly logically to disown your relative after abusing your child in such a way.

"Ms. McIntyre?"

Mr. Roberto was holding out a slip of yellow paper towards her, with words written in scrawling blue ink. She took it wordlessly, and tucked it into her pocket on the way out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be much use to you." Mr. Roberto called after her.

"Next time he lands himself in jail, put him in the general population. You're too nice for your own good." Tempest warned him in an unusually icy tone.

The vintage Cadillac sat directly in front of the house in question. It was a red-brick building in Queens, and rather shady place in Queens at that. Most of the windows of the gas stations and stores were barred. Tempest knew from living around that area that if you start seeing bars on the windows and doors, you'd better get your business down quick and move out while you were still in tact. It didn't surprise here in the least that the man in question, her uncle, had been forced to move here. The residents of New York weren't particularly fond of having pedophiles in their neighborhood, especially ones in nicer places. This is what he had been reduced to. Tempest glared at the door, fidgeting with the lock on the car door.

"You don't have to do this. I'll go. I'll get him to answer..."

"No," Tempest suddenly spoke and with a firm tone she answered, "No, I want to do this. I'm going to do this. Just, just give me some time."

Her heart was racing. She began chewing on her lower lip. Her fingers were twitchy and her legs felt like jello. Eleven years ago her uncle raped her and got away with it. She received no justice and her family ties were permanently severed because one cranky, high and mighty, holier-than-thou grandmother claimed that her son was sick and that daughter should be ashamed for being so cruel to him. They didn't speak to each other ever again, not even on Grandma's death bed. Who knew where Grandpa went. Probably dead and buried some place. However, this wasn't a family reunion. At least not a happy one and one that didn't have a picturesque scenery with laughing family members, barbeque, and good memories.

Tempest breathed in deeply, exhaled, and opened the car door. She marched to the door, and then paused. Raising her shaking hand, she pressed the square doorbell. The bell raised a shaking, staticy buzz. There were heavy feet climbing down the stairs. The box she carried from the car was tucked underneath her left arm. Her foot began tapping as she waited for the door to be answered.

A brown eye peered at her through the tiny hole in the door. A chain was undone and at least three locks clicked open. Before her, a scrawny misshapen man with graying ginger hair stepped closer, almost all the way through the threshold. Tempest took a couple of steps back. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she looked at him for the longest time, trying to find the blurry face of the man who abused her. His dark green eyes squinted at her through a pair of thick, black frames, broken and held together with scotch tape on the bridge. The glasses slipped down his long nose every few seconds. They were worn and beaten, scratched in several places. The man thought he saw someone familiar in her but couldn't quite match the face to any particular memory of his.

"May I help you?"

Tempest's reply was a short one. A single jab to his nose, strong enough to send him flat on his back.

"That's for raping me eleven years ago, you sick twisted freak!"

As he held his bleeding nose, the man looked up at the seething Tempest. It dawned on him. His features changed in a way that she did not expect.

"Emilie? Is that really you?" He said with an almost gleeful look in his eye.

He got on his feet again, but Tempest drew further away.

"Don't you come any closer. I just want to ask you a few questions and then I'll be leaving."

Michael stood where he was, stilling holding his nose.

Tempest showed him the box containing the baptismal down and letter.

"You're going to stop sending flower to my mom's grave. She hated you after what you did to me and I don't want your pity. I hate you. After today, I want nothing more from you. And your going to tell me what the hell does letter even mean!"

Ciel appeared behind her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Don't let yourself get so worked up about disgusting filth such as him."

Tempest hadn't realized that her breathing became hyperventilated. She was breathing so hard that the cool October air filled her lungs and stung her chest like pin-pricks. She immediately got herself under control. Breathing more slowly now, she opened the box and presented Michael with the letter. He took it from her outstretched hand and flipped it open. He read silently, but his face became distorted with confusion.

"This isn't my handwriting to begin with. This is clearly a woman's penmanship. Second, I barely have money to keep up with the rent. I don't even make minimum wage. I wouldn't be able to send flowers to anyone." He handed it back to Tempest, who snatched it away quickly, not wanting to prolong any sort of accidental touch with him.

Tempest poked her head briefly inside his house. She noted that any furniture was old, smelly, and inexpensive. Most of what he owned was probably picked off the streets.

"I believe that your broke. But how do I know that what you're saying about the letter is true?"

"I once tried my hand at handwriting analysis. The upward movement of the 'm' and 'p' denote a rather high intelligence and the flourishes in the rest of the letter indicates that this woman is creative, possibly a student in the arts. The narrow spacing between words most likely indicate that she has a wish to be with others, but her line spacing indicates the opposite, that she wishes stand back, or perhaps she has been standing back. She has small and delicate handwriting, not very with breaking social grounds."

"Oh, is that all?" Tempest's patience was wearing thin.

"No, not yet." He pointed to the paper. "There was stronger pressure over certain words, which means that she's unconsciously, or consciously, emphasizing those words for a reason. Those words are: girl, paid, go away, child, stained, never, learned, father's, ring, uncle, mother, attic and trunk. All of these words tell me that she is serious about the contents of this trunk."

"You still haven't told answered my question. What does it all mean?"

Ciel pulled her back. Her impatience and anger were getting the better of her.

"You'd have to ask my dad. He's moved out of the city just after mom died. Somewhere upstate."

"He's still alive?" Tempest doubted him. He had given her no reason to believe him. He may have sounded like he knew what he was talking about, but anyone could get on the computer and find that stuff.

"Yes. I'll call him, if you'd like."

Tempest slammed shut the box and started down the stairs.

"No. I can find him on my own, thanks. Have a nice life." She sneered and crawled into the safety of the car.

Ciel was left alone with Tempest's uncle and rapist. When she was safely in the car, he turned to him, his eye magenta. The man shriveled back in fear, face turning pale.

"If you make any contact with her, I will make that day your last. Am I understood, _sir?_"

Michael gave no audible answer, except that of shaking his head up and down nervously.

"Good." Ciel smirked at the quivering man and slammed shut the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

*Author's note: Updates will be posted every Monday and Friday. That is all. *

* * *

Ciel poured over several books and legal documents sitting on his desk. Finding Tempest's grandfather was looking to be an impossible endeavor, and he was a demon! In a city of a million people, even he managed to find information on nearly all of them. But a single man simply could not have vanished into thin air. Physically impossible, yet it had been done. No matter how long he searched in every database, library, and courthouse within the city, within the whole state of New York, there had been no evidence of this man. No death certificate, not even a single bill receipt. This man, whoever he was, had successfully thwarted a demon, even though it may have not been his intention. Ciel came to the conclusion that he didn't want to be found and he had covered his tracks so well that it was far likely to find Jimmy Hoffa than him.

Sebastian entered, carrying another stack of folders and papers yellowed with age.

"What have you found," Ciel tore his eyes away from own pile on his desk.

"I have still found nothing of great importance, sir. However, _these_ may prove more useful." The butler drop the stack of folders rather unceremoniously on the desk.

Ciel reached for the top most file, opened it, and recognized the familial resemblance in the black and white photograph of a woman attached to the papers by a single paperclip.

"Who is this?"

"Susan McIntyre, mother of _three..._" Sebastian answered with a knowing tone.

"Three?" Ciel looked confused. "But there has been not evidence of a third child. Tempest has repeatedly mentioned that she has no knowledge of any aunt or uncle. Just the _one._"

The butler paused, and then gave his master his trademark smirk. "Yes, indeed. However, do you recall when the grim reaper from the New York City dispatch and Mr. Speares visited Miss Tempest. Manchester I believe her name was. She mentioned something along the lines of 'skeletons in the closet.' Discover what this special grandmother was hiding, and we may find her husband."

"Knock, knock..." Beatrix rapped her knuckles against the door's frame.

Ciel closed the file and put in front of him.

"I'm going over to the American Dispatch Headquarters. With Undertaker's connections, they're willing to give me any information that I could want on Tempest's family. It might take a few hours, though. You'll have to watch her yourself."

"Very well. Where is she now?" Asked Ciel, rising from his chair.

Beatrix started rubbing the back of her neck in a nervous fashion. "In the kitchen."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Of course, I am," she retorted. "It's just that, um, she gave up drinking soon after we arrived in England a few months ago. And we kind of had to find an outlet to compensate for it..."

"A new hobby?" Ciel asked.

"Maybe you should see it for yourself." Beatrix led them downstairs to the kitchen.

Lo and behold, a certain someone was clipping flower steps. Already, the kitchen counters were decorated with finished projects. Tempest's brows were furrowed in concentration and the fine line of her lips were drawn into a grimace. She had hardly noticed the three enter quietly church mice.

"Tempest, is everything...alright?" Ciel edged towards her.

She gave a particular chrysanthemum step a sharp cut.

"Peachy," her answer was short, bitter, and clearly indicated the opposite of her answer.

He eased his hands on her shoulders. She was angry, he could tell. She had every right to be. But, he was nervous about letting her handle sharp instruments. It wasn't that he was afraid she'd hurt herself on purpose. Ciel knew her better than that. However, in her current state of emotional duress, it might have been wiser to put away any sharp and/or pointy tools that might help her cause trouble from her grasp.

"Sebastian, why don't you walk me to my car?" Beatrix suggested. Looking at the scene, she knew it was best not to be an audience.

"You have never required any assistance before." He answered her request.

She jabbed him in the ribs. The butler gave her a sharp glare, which she returned with one of her own.

"But as a _gentleman_, shouldn't you do your duty as to walk a lady to her car before she leaves?" The reaper gritted through her teeth. She indicated to the couple with her head.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

They disappeared just as Ciel was growing more impatient. The front door slammed shut. Considering that it was the on again and off again couple of the century and that Sebastian knew better than to interrupt his master, Ciel didn't worry him returning.

Ciel moved his hands from her tight shoulders to her hands, taking and holding them gently. His fingers laced so perfectly around hers like a mastered seamstress's stitching. He folded his fingers between hers. The way that their hands were, it became so uncomfortable to hold onto her stem cutter. It thudded against the wooden cutting board she had set up a bouquet of carnations and chrysanthemums.

"Tell me how you really feel." He rested his chest on her shoulder.

Tempest refused to speak, but she bowed her head. Her hands were beginning to shake. Ciel tightened his hands around them in a comforting way.

"Tell me." He soothingly and with the voice of someone who cared.

Tempest struggled, inward and outward, with her words. Her lips were parted as if she was going to speak, but the only sound that came from her was soft whimpering. Her eyes were slammed shut, but trickles of tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"I...don't want...to be...useless!" She finally spoke, however her voice was cracked and hoarse.

"What are you talking about?"

Tempest whipped around and was clutching an uncut red carnation in her hand. "I don't want to be like _this._" She waved the flower in front of his face.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I don't," her hand was lowered, shaking, "want to be something that's made to just look pretty, for decorative purposes. When I signed on board, I thought we would be partners. I will not stand in your shadow and let you do all the work. You've been the one collecting information, gathering files and folders, and going to the courthouses. This is _my_ problem. This is _my_ family's history we're digging into, so I should have an equal part in it. I'm not going to turn into a damn housewife who lets her husband make all the decisions!"

After her miniature tirade, the tears fell more freely. She opened her eyes to find Ciel staring at her with an emotion she didn't think him capable of: compassion. He leaned in until his forehead touched hers. Their noses were so close that they almost touched.

"If I wanted you only for the fact that you were pretty," he spoke in a hushed voice, "I would have been bored long before now."

Before Tempest could speak again, Ciel reached for her face and pecked her cheeks and the corner of her eyes, kissing away her tears.

"You really should have said something sooner. I thought you were upset over that _man._" He sighed, cupping her face. "Sometimes you are too stubborn for your own good."

Tempest looked away. Ciel pulled her face up again so she looked directly into his eyes.

"Be more verbal next time, please?"

She nodded softly.

Still holding her face, Ciel kissed on the lips before she could possibly protest. He kissed her with such a hungry ferocity that it seemed as though he wanted her to forget everything. His lips sent her spiraling into such a tizzy, clouding her thoughts and mind and soul until all she knew was his lips and his name. She clutched the hair on his head, running her fingers through it. The carnation fell to the floor. Not that she cared much for it anymore. Sebastian would pick it up later while he cleaned the kitchen.

Suddenly she felt Ciel's arm lock around her waist and her feet were lifted up from the floor. Tempest had been so drawn away from reality that she hadn't realized that Ciel was carrying her in her arms, bridal style. There seemed to be no one else in the house. Just the two of them. She hadn't heard Sebastian reenter the house. She blushed at the thought of having Ciel to herself for a change.

As he carried her up the steps to the second floor, Tempest wrapped her hands around his neck, to balance her weight more. She didn't doubt that he could carry her without her help, but she thought she could at least make it easier. It seemed to be a long walk. Tempest took the time to get another close look at Ciel's new face. He still seemed incredibly boyish, however, that's what she liked about him. A boyish flair with just a touch of a mature Byronic hero. She loved his high cheek bones above all else. It made him look almost androgynous, but in a sexy kind of way. Very few men could pull it off as easily as Ciel could. Leaning against his chest, Tempest looked up to find him smirking down at her. The blush across her cheeks. It felt like, and she hated to be cliche, she was a farm girl and the prince of the land decided to ask for her hand in marriage. There was something incredibly noble about his face. When he was human, he must have been someone of great importance.

He opened the bedroom door effortlessly. Ciel didn't even drop her or fumble. If was even possible, Tempest's blush deepened at the sight of the bed they were fast approaching. She began chewing on her lip, knowing just what he had in mind. Instead being laid out on the mattress on her back, Ciel placed her gently on the edge of the bed, sitting up. He knelt in front of her and removed her flats. After setting her shoes aside, he kissed her left foot. His lips were soft and the kiss sweet. Her stomach became a nest of butterflies as he continued planting short, sweet kisses up her leg until he reached her knee.

Ciel reached up suddenly and kissed her mouth. Tempest fell back on the bed. She found herself laid out with a pillow beneath her head. Ciel kept kissing her mouth, face, and her jaw line, his hands on either side of her waist to keep his weight off of her. She stared up into the canopy with its dark curtains looking like a night sky above them.

The blouse she wore suddenly became stifling and constrictive. Perhaps it was the heat of the moment that she reached up and started to undo the tiny buttons down the front. Ciel planted kisses along her neck, but never touched the skin she exposed. He nipped around the contract seal. Tempest moaned so deftly that even Ciel barely heard it, but he wondered if he could make it louder. So he bit her neck harder.

The sensation of his teeth against her flesh made her dizzy with passionate feelings she never felt before. She never had a boyfriend, thanks to Damon. This was the only time she had been so intimately close to a man and it was consensual. Goosebumps crawled all over her arms and legs. More buttons were undone. Ciel's fingertips touched her collar bones. His lips descended lower, slowly kissing their way down. She would have liked for him to continue lower, let him touch her. However, there was a nagging voice that somehow sneaked inside her brain. A voice that said that it was too soon. And maybe, this voice was right because she could feel her legs shaking uncontrollably. She admitted that she wasn't just nervous, but frightened. The last time she had been so close to a man, if her memories were correct, was with Damon and he was trying to rape her. Then there was the abuse she suffered at the hands of her uncle. Those issues had yet to be resolved. If she still had those doubts and wounds, then _this_ might not be the best moment to resolve them.

"C-Ciel, wait." She murmured.

He raised his head. She wasn't all that surprised when Ciel didn't pant for breath or sweat from his activities. He was demon after all. It wouldn't make much sense if he did.

"I-I don't think this is right. Not now. It's...it's too soon." Tempest pushed him away. She sat up against the headboard and looked at him in the eye.

Ciel nodded in understanding. He lifted up her right hand and pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Whatever you think is best. I won't force myself on you. However," he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "you may want to button your shirt unless you want to tempt me into continuing."

She blushed bright red, redder than she had ever been in her life. Tempest pushed him for forcefully this time. She sprang from the bed and ran into the bathroom.


	14. Chapter 14

"Beatrix, the archive library is closing. Do you have what you need?" The African-American appeared in the door way with his unnatural green eyes peering at her through square rims.

Beatrix raised her head, but her brain was still reeling back. She nodded silently. In the next second, she gathered up the files she needed and quickly stood up, hands and legs shaking.

Marcus, the New York Dispatch's librarian, closed the door behind her.

"I'll be taking these with me." She said suddenly as she started to make her way out of the building.

"I don't know if my superiors will let me give them to you…" Marcus replied nervously.

She turned angrily on her heels. Her eyes glared at him, causing him to stop and freeze in mid-walk.

"Did I need to remind you that this is about _Undertaker's _kid? Or do your superiors want to get a headache from dealing with him? I've got the man on speed dial. Don't tempt me." Spinning on her heels again, Beatrix headed for the exit just around the corner.

Marcus stood frozen there for only a couple of seconds. He was more shocked by her sudden anger than he was nervous. What on earth did she find? He followed her anyway, despite the fact that she looked like she could easily bite his head off. She was that angry.

"What did you find," he asked after he caught up with her. It was more easily said than done. Even in high heels, Beatrix was always a fast-walker.

The woman didn't answer him at first. The only sound in the hallway was that of her heels clicked sharply against the floor and his dress shoes following after her. She gritted her teeth before answering, but she couldn't look at him. She also couldn't tell him _all_ that she found in Susan McIntyre's file.

"Manchester wasn't kidding when she said that this family had skeletons in the closet. How long have you worked here?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "No long. I certainly wasn't around when the woman you asked for died. I'd say about five years or so. Maybe six."

"Good, because fresh meat like you doesn't need to know."

Beatrix found the elevator. Her red-painted fingernail pressed the down button immediately as she saw the thing. She began tapping her foot, waiting impatiently for the elevator to come down.

"What did you find?" His curiosity would get the better of him. And frankly, the newbie was starting to get on her nerves with all of his questions.

"The less you know the better." She glared at him to be quiet just before the elevator dinged.

The chrome doors slid apart. An empty black chamber sat before her. Upon entering, Beatrix pushed the 'close doors' button and grimly looked at her reflection in the door. Marcus disappeared behind them. The boy looked confused and out of sorts. He would have a look of horror if she told him what was in that file. Beatrix glared at the tiny screen above the elevator doors, the digital screen that told her what floor she was on. In the silence of the empty elevator, she was finally able to clear her head. But her head was spinning and so much of her blood was racing through her veins. Her breathing was unsteady. Air was forced in and out of her lungs, sharply exhaled and inhaled through her nose. Looking at her reflection, Beatrix could tell that her face had gone pale. It wasn't a good look for her.

Her hands clutched the thick files. Her nails left imprints in the cardstock folder that contented the haunting papers. Paper and ink in and of themselves were nothing to be afraid of. Words could never do any harm. However, the ink on these papers was indeed haunted. Ghosts of a bloody past were about to be raised. The secrets the file contained sent shivers up and down Beatrix's spine. And she was a difficult woman to scare. Now, she didn't claim to be unable to feel fear. She was never that confident in herself. It was just more difficult to scare her than other women. _This_, this scared the living daylights out of her. Half of her wished she had never found it and leave Tempest in a state of innocent confusion. This half of Beatrix's person wanted to keep the young girl out of this mess, even for a little while. But, the other half of her realized that Tempest had to know. This was her past and her mystery needed to be solved.

While she was trapped within her own thoughts, the elevator bell finally rang again. The doors slid open and a vast concrete parking garage stood before her. Beatrix took her leave, her feet shaking. She swallowed hard as she made her way through the garage. Again, her heels were the only things that made any sound. The lack of noise was starting to press upon her. Making her paranoid.

She had important and damning evidence in her hand. This could shake the dispatch in New York and the one three thousand miles away to its very core. Undertaker would certainly move across the ocean. Ciel would never leave Tempest alone, unsecured. Beatrix herself would not leave the girl's side. She would certainly step up in her bodyguard duties.

If any mortal human were to come across information as this, they might have died from a heart attack.

This was the equivalent for a certain grim reaper.

Despite her shaking legs, Beatrix tried to walk steadily and quickly to her car. The walk seemed so much longer now than earlier that day. She pulled her keys out of her pocket. Slipping the keys between her fingers, she felt safer. Now that she was armed, and she could always pull out her shovel, Beatrix felt just slightly less paranoid.

It was sunset. She lost track of time in the New York Dispatch's library. The dimming orange seeped through only one corner of the garage. She just had to pull out into the street. By the time she got home, it would already be dark. Beatrix whipped her head over her shoulder, thinking she heard something. When nothing appeared in the shadows, she swallowed and pretended it was just her imagination.

The glaring red paint job and the familiar black hotrod flames came into view. She almost sighed with relief. She clutched the files and her keys tighter, just in case.

Speed walking in heels was far more challenging than it looked. Beatrix managed it because she was paranoid, what with carrying _that_ file on her person, and her need to get into her car and on the road to the house as soon as possible. The car drew closer and closer. Yet, for some reason, Beatrix couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something perhaps, was behind her. She didn't dare to look behind her again. Beatrix looked ahead of her, staring at her car like it was some sort of messiah.

Then she heard it.

A footstep on the concrete floor. That one was followed by another. A second pair of feet followed them. Then a third and a fourth. And then a fifth.

Beatrix quickened her pace. She cursed herself for wearing such high heels. The car couldn't get any closer. In fact, it seemed further and further away. With every step she took, not only were her pursuers going after her, the car appeared to move further ahead of her. The car moved, so it seemed.

Her pursuers were edging closer. The car stood a mere eight yards away. Beatrix was ready to kick off the cursed things off her feet and make a break for it.

A sharp tug on her arms pulled her to the ground. Beatrix tumbled over and rolled over onto her side. She didn't have time to get a good look at the attacker that pulled her down. A swift kick to her face knocked her glasses clean off. They were thrown underneath her own car. In a blurry haze, Beatrix reached out to make a grab for them, only to have her hand stomped on with a heavy boot. By the weight of it, she judged that it had a steel toe.

"W-what the hell do you want?" Beatrix spat. Blood from her nose splattered on the concrete floor. It flowed down even to her lips, so when she spoke, she spat out blood.

"Who do you work for?" The question sounded like something out of an old-fashioned gangster movie or a corporate espionage novel. Either way, the man who posed the question was for real and deadly serious.

His heel dug deeper in her hand. Beatrix grunted at the pain. It wasn't felt just in her hand. The fall, the blow to the head, and the heavy boot digging into hand were all making her woozy. She looked around. They surrounded her. The file was pulled out from under her.

Looking around her at the dark figures, Beatrix realized it would be useless. She couldn't see without her glasses and the blow to her head didn't help matters. All she saw were four or five, it could even have been as many as six, dark blurs with white faces. Beatrix could not even discern what color their eyes were. Not green was the only thing she was certain of.

"I could ask you the same thing." She asked rather boldly.

Someone from the crowd kicked her in the ribs. Hard.  
"I'd be careful how you answer the question, Franken-bitch. We don't have time or the patience to deal with your BS. Just tell us who you're working for." A woman, presumably the same who just kicked her, ordered. Her request didn't sound like it was optional.

"I-I'm an independent investigator, l-looking at stuff for a friend." Beatrix grunted.

Another kick to her already bruised ribs sent her curling into fetal position. It was unquestionably a woman who kicked her. She could feel a pointed toe of a shoe and thought she heard a stiletto heel against the ground. Her hand was released from underneath the boot as she rolled onto her back.

"Don't lie to us. Who are you working for?" The woman was only getting angrier.

"_Mascha_, we can't get answers out of her if you kill her. You should stay out of the way. You know how you get when you're angry." A stern male voice answered.

"Or what, _Seth_? You know as well I as do, the fewer people we leave in our wake, the less trouble we have to take care of later. And it seems to me, that this little tart doesn't like to respectively answer some questions."

"She's also a grim reaper, which means she probably has connections and that she's going to be missed. We can't kill her, not today." A different male said rather softly.

"You just don't want to do any more work than necessary."

"Will you all stop bickering like small children? It's very annoying." The first male spoke again. His body leaned over Beatrix's face. She couldn't see his face, not even close up. It only appeared as a pale blob.

"Who are you working for?" His hand pulled her hair, nearly ripping it out of her scalp. Beatrix gritted her teeth and bore with the pain. "And do yourself a favor and answer already. You're in way over your head, grim reaper girl."

"You really want to know?" She glared at the blob in front of her.

His fingers tightened their grip. Beatrix grunted again. Her scalp felt like it was being ripped off with her hair.

"I don't hear you answering my question. "

"U-Undertaker's kid. Maybe you've heard of her?" Beatrix felt her face with the concrete floor. The cool temperature of the concrete felt nice against her hot cheek, even if she did meet it rather painfully. Her whole skin felt hot to the touch with all of her blood racing through her.

"Good news. We're not going to kill you, not today at least."

"T-terrific." Beatrix began crawling towards her car. A boot on her back forced her back down.

"That doesn't mean you're getting away that easily. Meddlers like you need to be made into an example."

"Why?" Beatrix choked, terrified to know the answer.

"For us to know and you to never find out." The woman named Mascha delivered another swift kick to her head.

After that, everything became a dark blur.


	15. Chapter 15

When Beatrix woke again, the entire parking garage was completely black, save for its dim, yellow lights. The lights above her buzzed and hummed, increasing the pain of her headache she already had. It wasn't just her head, unfortunately. Her face hurt too. As a matter of fact, everything below her eyebrows hurt. It was agonizing just to open her eyes. Beatrix could feel nothing but pain seeping through every single pore. Without even having to look, she could feel the blood rushing through her skin to the bruises that she knew for sure she had. Carefully, Beatrix felt around her face with her left hand. Sure enough, she felt the swollen lump that was a nice and pretty shiner.

Easing herself up, she gripped the trunk of her car as she stood up on her legs. It seemed like a miracle that those things let her keep her kneecaps. For a while, she thought they were going to break them off and use them as toothpicks. Her ribcage was a different story entirely. She lifted her other hand into the light. Her right hand was covered in bruises, black, blue, and purple marred her hand. There was no way she was going to be able to use this one for much of anything, let alone pick up her shovel and fight. That was simply out of the question. It was safe to say that for next month she was useless. Her knuckles in that hand were bent out of shape, crooked and gnarled with nasty black markings. Even without her glasses, she could tell she was out of commission while her hand healed.

"My...glasses," she mumbled.

She bent down to the ground again. She remembered seeing her glasses fly underneath her car. Her knees were killing her as she bent down on them. Stretching blindly with her left arm, Beatrix kept her right one tucked in towards her stomach. Before, she had never realized how much effort it actually took to perform the simple task of stretching one's arm to reach for something. She had spent years reaching under her to grab the keys dropped, but because it was such an every day thing, she thought nothing of it. Now that she was on her knees, bleeding, bruised, beaten, and sore, Beatrix noticed how powerful the muscles in her body really were. She never noticed, not even once, how smoothly the muscles in arm could complete a task as simple as picking up car keys from the ground. Now that her body took the beating of a life time, and it seemed that pain had seeped down not just through her muscles, but even down to the marrow in her bones, those same muscles she took for granted decided to reward her ingratitude by making the simple task as easy as shoving an elephant through the eye of a embroidery needle. At least two things were working against her: the first has already been established. The muscles in her arm and shoulder made it quite plain to see that they weren't going to work as smoothly as she wanted them to. Pain seemed to be a fitting reward for allowing herself to be caught off guard so easily. The second disadvantage Beatrix struggled against was the sheer darkness and her blindness. No matter how hard she pushed that arm of hers, to the very brink of its current condition, her glasses were always out of reach. Beatrix could make out the refection in the cracked lenses, the light bouncing off from the florescence.

On the brink of despair, her fingertips grazed across the familiar dark frames. Smiling through pain and busted lips, she gave it one more try. They were so close. Nearly in her grasp. Getting on stomach, even though it made her ribcage hurt all the more, Beatrix was able to get enough leverage to finally grab hold of her glasses. The task was a herculean feat and the prize was worth the effort.

Beatrix crawled out from her car and rose again. This feat too was not without its setbacks either. Upon standing again, her blood seemed to rush to her head all at once. The reaper stumbled, nearly fell backwards on her backside, and was forced to lean against her car to prevent the fall. She felt around the pockets of her pants. Surprisingly, her attackers did not rummage through her clothes. She was at least grateful that they had not made off with keys or the cell phone in her back pocket. The keys had found their way to the wheel on the driver-side wheel. Unlike her fellow British citizens, the car was designed as if by an American. At the time she was fixing the car, it didn't seem likely that she'd go near the United States. Small world.

The key didn't want to cooperate. Although it could have been Beatrix shaking hand. It took her several minutes of trying to make the key go into its designated hole. It was all the more difficult with her glasses cracked. The lenses in the left frame were barely holding on. One little trip and they were done for. Even if that didn't happen, Beatrix would still need new ones. The door was pulled open. After sliding in, she noticed that one of her shoes was missing. The reaper sighed. Such a thing as that did not matter. She was grateful to be alive. Her shoes could be easily replaced, she couldn't.

The door was slammed shut, a move Beatrix regretted in an instant. By closing the door in that manner, the loud thud mad her. It her headache worse. She rubbed the temples in her forehead until some of the pain subsided. Though it did little good and the headache was still there, the motion of her hand had a sort of calming effect. There were so many thoughts rushing through her head, she honestly couldn't keep track of them all. Her head was spinning with blurry memories and faint voices. All she could make out of her attackers was their black clothes, which were utterly undistinguished, and their pale faces, again not very helpful. The only way for those memories to clear up was to wait until she was healed, physically and mentally.

Beatrix doubted that Sebastian would ever let her live this down. The thought of letting anyone see her in this state was mortifying. A certain demon would never let her forget how easily she was subdued, outnumbered, and given a go sod thrashing. She didn't want to think of what Tempest would say when she saw her. It would be inevitable that people other than Sebastian would find out. The thought of Sebastian's smug know-it-all face and Tempest's look of horror and pity almost proved too much for the reaper. With right arm still tucked close to her abdomen, Beatrix started the car. She had driven with one hand before; it wouldn't be as if she was out of practice. Besides, desperate times called for desperate measures.

* * *

If there was ever a time to eat ones weight in ice-cream, Tempest certainly chose the perfect day. Grabbing a chair from the dining hall, she dragged it into the kitchen and put it near an empty counter top. She rummaged through the freezer, finding an unopened carton of cookies and cream, just taunting her. She stuck to the vow she made in England to keep alcohol at bay. If her mom was alive, she wouldn't want to see her daughter drinking away her problems. It was unhealthy at best and deadly and self-destructive at worst. Try as she may, Tempest had problems finding more productive and healthier methods to solve her problems. The universe or fate decided that she would be the one with the worst case of an emotional shut-in. Mentally, she was strong. Emotionally, Tempest was the weakest thing on earth. She couldn't communicate her feelings unless she bottled them up and waited for it to overload. Then she would explode, as was the case earlier that day. Perhaps all she needed was a therapist? Given the circumstances, Tempest was a New York City therapist's wet dream. Obviously, the supernatural aspect of her life would naturally be left out of the mix. The last thing she needed was a psychologist to think she was crazy and send her off to the loony bin.

She plucked a newly cleaned spoon from the drawer. It still felt warm from the scalding hot water Sebastian washed and all of the other silverware in. Her hand grew used to holding the hot metal. The carton's lid was quickly flipped open. Just as Tempest dug the large spoon into the ice-cream, she was interrupted.

"I don't believe it is healthy to medicate with food, Miss." Sebastian sounded like the nanny Tempest never wanted.

She dug out a scoop of the ice-cream that was almost as big as the spoon itself. The contents of the spoon were deposited into her mouth. She let it melt some inside her mouth before speaking.

Turning to him, with a mouthful of ice-cream, "You actually know what that means?"

"Of course, it is called adaptation. If we continued with our old way of life we would surely stick out like a sore thumb. Especially since the Young Master has become simply the Master, and you have no intentions of sitting still in your gilded cage like a good, little song bird, it is necessary that we, the Master and I, learn all that we can about and from modern society."

He took the carton from her, closed the lid on it, and replaced the whole thing back inside the freezer. Tempest sighed. She looked at the clock on the stove.

"Shouldn't Beatrix be back by now?" Asking as she put the now-dirty spoon in the sink. How you feel

"I'm more concerned for _your_ well-being. Beatrix is highly capable of protecting herself."

"Careful, Sebastian, your humanity is showing. You may just be rubbing off of me." Tempest failed to suppress a giggle.

"I highly doubt that. Unlike the Master, I was not born a human. You will find that he and I have very few things in common."

"Such as?"

"I am far less likely to become emotionally attached to anything or anyone."

Tempest looked at him, one brow cocked in disbelief.

"And is Beatrix aware about how you feel?"

"She is highly aware of my position in our relationship," Sebastian answered with an air of unattached affectation. "Ours is purely a...physical one. But I do not believe that this is the most appropriate conversation I should have with you, Miss. The Master would find it most improper if I were to discuss my..." He paused in trying to think of the right words to say.

"Sexual exploits?" Tempest chuckled. "There's really no need to be so proper with me, Sebastian. I'm 22 years old. I've already figured out the birds and the bees, on my own might I add."

"That's all well and good, but if this was Victorian England, it is unlikely that the affair ever occurred in the first place."

"And if this was Victorian England, I would be cleaning the kitchen instead of eating in it."

"I wouldn't be so hard on yourself, Miss. That day and age has passed. And who knows, with your breeding and talent you could have been a famous actress?"

"Which was no better than a prostitute in those days." Tempest added with a sour look.

Sebastian sighed. He simply could not win with her.

"This is precisely I did not want to have this conversation with you. It is improper of my station to discuss my relationship with you."

Tempest put her hands on her hips. "But you work for Ciel, not me."

Using his demonic speed, Sebastian untied the wide ribbon around her neck. His gloved finger pointed out the seal on her neck.

"By association I also serve you. He is my lord and you are his lady. Therefore, I 'work' for you as well."

Tempest went silent as the dead, letting his words soak in. The thought had never occurred to her that if was with Ciel, that Sebastian would become her butler too simply by being in a relationship with his master. The idea was actually unnerving. She was the kind of person who never thought about having someone serving them. The very concept of servitude left an ugly mark on her spirit. If anything, Tempest found the idea repulsive.

Sebastian placed the choker in her hand. Tempest could only feel numb, from the inside out. He looked at her in the eyes with a very serious look upon his face. He was going to be quite stern with her; she knew it. Sebastian only made that face when he was about to say something when the kitchen's intercom unit buzzed into life.

"S-s-Sebastian...I need you...open the front door for me. Please."

It sounded like Beatrix, but she was hoarse and ragged. Her breathing was labored.

"Don let...don't let her see me like...this."

Despite the vague request to keep the young woman from seeing her, Tempest was the first to bolt for the front door. She could see through the glass front a dark shape crudely leaning against it. The door was opened without a moment to lose. Tumbling out the door in a dirty, beaten mess did Beatrix make her grand entrance. Her clothes were ruined, caked with dirt, dust, and blood. In several places in her halter top and pants were great gashes as if she had a run-in with the wolf-man. Her right shoe was missing. The lenses in the frames were cracked and broken. The glass looked like it was about to fall apart. Beatrix's face was in even worse condition.

She had a busted lip, bloody nose, a black eye, and bright purple bruises all over. Beatrix turned a bruised eye to the girl underneath her. Tempest had become the pillow that cushioned her fall.

"Bullocks," she groaned. She had hoped to postpone the dreaded meeting until a more opportune time arrived.


	16. Chapter 16

Beatrix continued to curse and swear as she lay helplessly on the floor. Tempest crawled out from underneath her, very carefully as she did so. The master of the house came charging out of his library no sooner had Beatrix fell into a heap on his foyer.

"Sebastian, what's the meaning of this?" Ciel turned to his butler.

Sebastian immediately went to Beatrix's side and looked at his master.

"Quite frankly, I have no idea, Master." Then he turned his attention to the grim reaper, groaning and possibly bleeding out on the floor. Another mess for him to clean. "What did happen to you? A bar fight, was it?"

Somehow she was able to feebly kick him in his leg, but it only hurt her more than it did him.

"I-I went to the New York Dispatch's library, to locate a certain file, like I told you earlier."

"Then why the hell do you look like you've been mugged?" It was rare for Tempest to swear. It just wasn't in her nature, which was semi-sweet and polite. When she did, something made her extremely upset.

Beatrix struggled to sit up, but her arms were still very shaky. Sebastian knelt beside her, giving her support with his arms.

"Because I was," she answered bluntly.

"But who? Was it somebody from the dispatch? I can call my dad…."

"No," Beatrix interrupted. "It was certainly not someone from the dispatch. _They _weren't even grim reapers and definitely not human."

The room became so quiet, a pin could drop and one would be able to hear it. Tempest's face went pale. Naively, she had thought this stuff was behind her. With Ciel to protect, she didn't think that there was anyway someone would try anything again. Perhaps the greatest threat wasn't Alessandra?

_I won't be the last. There will be more. There will_ always_ be more…._

Alessandra's last words replayed in Sebastian's head. She was right. If any of them believed that she was the end of it all, they were sorely mistaken. The injuries Beatrix was covered in was proof enough. No human could inflict those kinds of wounds. A reaper or two could, but who would risk incurring the wrath of Undertaker? With Beatrix's connections, no one would be foolish enough to commit assault and battery on Beatrix.

Heaving a loaded sigh, he locked one arm underneath her knees and held onto her waist. Beatrix, startled and embarrassed by his actions, began struggling despite her injuries. No matter how her ribs her or how broken her hand was, she did not give up without a fight.

"Really, Miss Bathory? I'm merely helping you as a _gentleman_ to your room. Clearly your hair dye has gone to your head."

Beatrix pouted, punching him in the chest with her good hand. "Most of my hair is natural, you pig! How dare you insult a woman's hair color! Put me down this instant. I can walk to my room by myself!"

Sebastian tossed her lightly in the air, barely an inch, just enough to make her jump. A loud, pain-ridden groan escaped her. Beatrix held onto her ribs, eyes glued shut and face contorted into a mask of agony.

"There really is no need to be so stubborn, young lady," he said to her as he carried up the stairs. "A few of your ribs are broken. Your ankle is swollen, which indicates that you must have sprained it. And your whole right hand is broken. Not to mention the possible concussion, several lacerations, and perhaps even internal bleeding. I can't let you lay on the floor like this. Blood is very hard to get out of tile flooring."

The demon and reaper disappeared, Beatrix's remark against Sebastian and blood stains on the floor faded away as she was carried off to her bedroom. The door was slammed shut. Tempest was left standing in the middle of the floor. She stared down at the blood Beatrix left behind.

A deep gnawing feeling swept over her. Her eyes were glued to the bloodstain, slowly setting. The bright red turned to a darker hue, tarnishing the perfectly white tile with its essence. There was more than just a tiny twinge of guilt rising inside of her. No, this form of guilt took on the shape of a raging monster that threatened to devour her from the inside out. Tempest started shaking and in order to keep herself from completely submitting to this fearsome emotion erupting from tightness in her chest, her now-cold hands grabbed hold of her arms. She held herself like this for several minutes. Tempest knew that she had to look away from the bloodstains on the floor, but for whatever reason she couldn't. The guilt was growing inside of her, getting bigger and bigger. She could almost hear Alessandra's voice, taunting her from beyond the grave.

_See; see what your existence does to others? You're not even a grim reaper. You're not human. This is what happens when people get close to you. Your mother, your neighbors, those people at the theater. All dead…because of you. Why don't you end it now? _

"Tempest!" Ciel grabbed her from behind. His hand covered her eyes so she couldn't see the bloodstains.

"_This_ is not your fault. Beatrix was not hurt because of you. She was attacked. The assailants are to blame, not you!"

Ciel's arm around her waist steadied her. Her knees buckled beneath her.

"Then why do people I know keep getting hurt?" Her voice was hoarse as she fought against the tears.

It was a useless effort. Tears flowed down her cheeks. No matter how hard she fought back, she cried just the same. A terrible thump formed in her throat. She felt him sit her down in his lap while he sat on the stairs. His fingers going through her hair gently.

"I don't know. I wish I could tell you. But you cannot blame yourself. Nothing you have done in this life or in a previous one has earned you and the people you care for to be hurt. I will not allow you blame yourself for the misdeeds of others." Ciel lifted her face, pulling her away from his shoulder which she had been crying upon. His cool hand wiped her tears. Grasping her chin gently so she couldn't look away from his eye, he continued, "Do you hear me? You have committed no sin to earn this. Whoever they are won't touch you and they certainly won't be able to lay even a finger on me. Do have that kind of faith in me?"

Tempest hiccupped, but nodded anyway. She finished drying her eyes with the bottom of her sleeve. Ciel pushed her head against his chest. In a split second of weakness, he noticed how well her dark jeans fit her slender legs. Shaking his head without letting her know of it, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

"You have nothing to be afraid of. No one else will suffer, no one of importance to you. No more tears now," he whispered against her cheek.

"Are you seriously more concerned about the stupid floor than my well-being?" Beatrix screamed down the hall. Her futile attempts to wriggle free of Sebastian's clutches went for naught.

He carried her away against her will to her bedroom, which she never dreamed of happening. The door was slammed shut behind him and she found herself dumped rather rudely onto her bed. She was thankful that at least the mattress was better for falling on than a solid concrete floor in a parking garage or a tile floor, but the impact still caused a spike of pain to pour through her. She clutched her side with her left hand. Her right hand lay on top of her stomach, useless. The woman shifted in her bed, trying to sit up only to be pushed roughly down again.

"Are you trying to make a bigger mess of yourself, Bathory?" He said seriously. There was a deathly glare in his red eyes. "And which is it? Do you want me to care for your injuries or are you going to scream like a banshee for doing so? You're an incredibly complex woman, you know that."

He began to remove his tailcoat. He was in the middle of rolling up his sleeves and removing his white gloves when she finally answered him.

"Maybe if you didn't make a scene of it." Beatrix scowled.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and disappeared to fetch some ice. Luckily when he returned, the reaper was still in bed.

He dumped a bag of ice deliberately on her broken hand. The cold numbing effect of the ice would have been ice, if it hadn't been forcefully dumped on her hand. Instead of relieving pain, it increased it. The sudden weight of the ice-bag made Beatrix to jump up in bed, howling in pain.

"What'd you that for?!"

"To show you that you're the one that creates scenes, not I. You should also be aware that an indoor voice is necessary if you want to talk in this house."

Beatrix sneered at him. Talk about bi-polar. Just the other day they were going at it like a pair of horny teenagers. Now, the man before her was cold as ice and incredibly cruel. What on earth did she do to piss him off?

She took the bag off of her hand and removed her glasses. They were set aside while she pressed the bag against her eye. The dark bruise on her cheek stung not just a little, but a lot while the ice worked its magic. Beatrix lay there in bed, not moving. She watched Sebastian leave the room and return several times. He ran back and forth getting new medical supplies. It seemed odd that they had so many. It was unlikely they kept that sort of stuff on handy for all these years. Not for the past century and twenty three years. The medical supplies must have been something new, since they had a human living with them now, if one could still deem Tempest human.

Sebastian was either moving very quickly or the assault had damaged her eyes, although you probably couldn't tell if they were worse than before. The eyes of a grim reaper were notorious for being extremely near-sighted. Possibly the result of too much genetic-inbreeding. That was Beatrix's theory, at least.

After his last trip, she heard him lock the door behind him. With her blurry vision, she spotted a jumbled assortment of items, indefinable in her condition. A wave of sleepiness overwhelmed her suddenly. All she wanted to do now was sleep. Sebastian had other ideas unfortunately.

Beatrix had just started to drift off when he shined a bright flashlight in her eyes. She squinted and swatted away his hand. The ice-bag fell out of her hand and tumbled to the floor. He didn't bother to pick up.

"Your pupils are dilating. You don't have a concussion. From what I can see, most of the damage is in your ribs. Turn on your side." He ordered bluntly.

Beatrix struggled a bit at first. She only managed because he helped her with it. With her back turned, she felt his hand poke and prod around her ribcage. Her left side hurt worse the other for obvious reasons. When his hand touched her side the wrong way, she hissed deeply.

"Does it hurt to breathe deeply?"

"Yes."

"I can give you about six to eight weeks before you can even think about leaving this bed." He disappeared from the bed.

"Six to eight weeks? That's _human_ time. In case you're forgetting, I'm a reaper. It shouldn't be as long as that."

Sebastian said nothing for a while. The sound of the clock on the dresser ticked by. The rhythmic ticking was the only thing in the room.

"Sebastian, they weren't normal, were they?" Beatrix swallowed her fear.

"No, they weren't."

"I figured as much. No demon should have been able to get past the dispatch's security. Unless one of two things, someone let them in, which is not at all likely or they were powerful enough to get in on their own."

"Indeed."

Another cold compress landed on her ribs. Stretching her neck to see him, he scowled back at her.

"Why do you keep giving me the death glare? What exactly did I do to make you mad today? You keep looking at me like this is my fault." She ground her teeth. Pain was seeping through her veins now. She quickly turned her head back.

"I was just complimenting on your ability to defend yourself when you stumbled through the door, battered like an abused housewife."

Beatrix didn't even have to look at him to know that he was still glaring at her, frowning at her with a deep sense of apathy. She could almost feel it coming through his eyes and burning in the back of her skull.

"So you're blaming me because I made you look foolish?" She scoffed. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Imagine my surprise when you speak on the intercom. I didn't even have to see you in order to know that you were wounded. So what did they do? Did they corner you? Did they catch you off guard? What happened?" Sebastian's questions surprised her. He sounded angrier over the fact that she was injured than he was over a bruised ego, which still didn't make much sense. Why would he care if he had been complimenting her and then have his words torn down like a ton of bricks when she came home injured? Surely, his ego wasn't that frail.

"I was walking to my car. I heard them coming up from behind. The next thing I know, I'm thrown to the ground and my glasses were kicked off of my face. There….there were five or six of them. Dressed in black. I couldn't see their faces. "

"Were there five or six? It can't be both."

Beatrix rubbed her head trying to remember. "Five…I'm pretty sure. I can't be one-hundred percent certain, though."

"What happened next?"

"They asked me who I was working for. Then they started arguing with each other. Almost like….siblings. When I refused to answer them, one of them, a woman, started beating the tar out of my ribs. Pointed heels…I think she was wearing. I told them that I knew Undertaker's daughter and they said that they would let me live. That's, that's when they started beating me. I've must've….blacked out."

Beatrix didn't want to remember that this night ever happened. It was a cold, cruel night. She had never been a victim before. Not with her father, not with her brothers, not at work. She never let herself be torn down, manipulated, beaten, assaulted, abused, or even taunted. Years she had built up her self-image as a woman who was strong and didn't need a man. This night proved that she was just as weak as her mother, who silently put up with her husband's infidelities and abuses. If only she could have seen their faces, then Beatrix could exact her revenge.

Mentally, she cursed. She wondered if this was the beginnings of post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Did they say anything else?"

Beatrix thought longer and harder. There had been something else she was forgetting. She could still hear their voices, as if they were still standing around her in a circle. At the time, she was busy thinking of ways to escape. What they were arguing between each other didn't seem important at the time. But the further she dug in the crevices of her mind, there were names being spoken. Yes, yes, Beatrix could hear them going at it all over again. There was the woman whose name was…it sounded like Russian or Romanian. Something from Eastern Europe. _Mariya, Marisha, Masha?_ Mascha!

But what was the other name it was on the tip of her tongue.

"They said a couple of names. Mascha and…Seti? No, Seth." The names had nearly escaped from her. They didn't kick her in the head hard enough.

"Are you sure?"

"Ninety-five percent."

"Only ninety-five?" He sounded doubtful.

"Ninety-five is still a passing grade."


	17. Chapter 17

Tempest avoided Beatrix like the plague. She couldn't even look at the door as she walked past it every morning on her way to breakfast. Her eyes were always drawn to her feet, staring down at the floor rather than to look upon that particular bedroom door. There was a dull aching in her chest and it wouldn't easily go away. It didn't matter what Ciel said. No amount of words he could tell her could ever give her the assuring comfort she desperately needed. There was very little he could say. Even though he tried, she feel the stabbing pain of guilt inside of her.

Today, Undertaker would visit again. Nobody knew for sure how well he took the news. His lack of seriousness made these situations all the more difficult. He mentioned bringing in a replacement, someone he knew that could fill in for Beatrix while she was recovering. Who this_ friend_ of his was, there wasn't a clue. Undertaker had no other connections as far as Ciel knew of. Then again, that man was full of surprises. Ciel only hoped that whoever he was bringing along wasn't as mentally disturbed as he was.

Beatrix had been kept in bed for three days now and still no sign of Undertaker. They began to think that he wouldn't show himself. Tempest stayed in the bedroom most of the time. She only came down for food. She occasionally crept out of her sanctuary and sat in the library, just for a few hours, reading. It seemed that she was desperate to escape her reality, as fictitious as it seemed to be compared to others. There Sebastian found her, blue eyes glued to a copy of Bram Stoker's _Dracula. _Her eyes barely moved at all. She lay on her back, head propped up on a pillow. He could see that her eyes merely seemed to be reading. He doubted that her mind really was so entrapped in the story. No, Sebastian suspected that the young woman's mind was anywhere but inside the book. He had been standing in the middle of the library for a good five minutes. Tempest took no notice of him. Ever since he entered, she made no movement whatsoever. He watched the movement of her eyes closely. They flickered slowly over the words, but every now and then, they stopped. She would get this look on her face. Her eyes looked at the book as if she was gazing into nothingness. There was a vague, distant look in her eyes like she wasn't all there.

Finally, he cleared his throat. Sure enough, Tempest turned away from her book, closed it without even leaving behind a bookmark, which just showed how uninvolved she was with the article in question, and set it aside.

Dark circles encased her eyes. Her cheeks were paler than normal. It could also be said that she picked up the habit of picking around her food instead of eating it. As a grim reaper, food not be a necessity. Undertaker was frequently seen munching his famous bone-shaped cookies, but no one had ever seen him actually eating a meal. The human side of Tempest needed food to stave off hunger, or at least the felling of hunger. For a split second, Sebastian wondered what it felt like to be a starving immortal being. He had the mind to believe it wouldn't be the most pleasant ordeal to bear. Mortal or immortal, the fact still remained that food was required to be eaten by her in order to keep up her strength. The master would not be pleased if she starved herself.

"Do you intend to make yourself sick?" He asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?" She snapped, irritated. Apparently, Tempest became just little cranky when she didn't eat.

Sebastian came towards her. She sat up; her spine tingled when she saw his face. He was wearing that face again. The kind of face that made even her cringe at the sight of it. He couldn't do anything to her, not while she was with Ciel, which was now a permanent state in their relationship. But still, it was Sebastian for crying out loud. Who knew what this man was capable of? He probably knew a few ways to cause her psychological harm without leaving a lasting scar.

"You know very well what I'm talking about. You're immortal, yes. A human would have died from having a hand plunge inside their chest, breaking the sternum. However, it seems that in your unique case, you also need food. Did you think I have not noticed? You are on the verge of starving yourself, which I believe is a very negative experience when you can never die. Why do you do this to yourself? Because you're currently eating at the self-pity party, table for one. Might I suggest the oven roasted fillet of poor me, served on a delightful bed of cry me a river."

Tempest ground her teeth. "I don't need to take this."

She rose up with every intention of leaving.

"I thought you New Yorkers were made of stronger stuff? Perhaps I was wrong. You certainly don't give me any reason to believe otherwise. Hiding behind a mask of selfish, self-pitying, cowardice." Sebastian shook his head.

Her knuckles cracked in her hands. She turned her blazing blue eyes towards him, glaring. Her back faced him. She turned her he ad over her shoulder. Sebastian stood still as a statue, unmoved by her fiery glare.

"What did you just say?"

Sebastian never let his guard down. Everyone had a weakness, there was always one thing that each individual held dear. Admittedly, he still had a fondness for cats. Ciel's one and only weakness was Tempest and Beatrix, well, he kind of knew hers well enough already. Tempest's one weakness was her devotion and loyalty to her hometown. Speares made the mistake of picking at her lesser weakness, her career, which meant close to nothing now that she retired. That left only one other thing, New York. He could tell he disturbed the resting giant by the frightful look in her eye.

"I beg your pardon," he bowed from the waist, his hand over his heart. "I had no idea you would be so offended."

Tempest fully turned, cheeks and ears flushed red with anger.

"Say what you want about me," her voice cracked slightly. She was fighting the urge to use her native tongue. "But don't you dare say anything bad about New York. You have no idea what fresh hell I have been through all this time. Back in May, I thought I was human. Six months later, I'm a grim reaper hybrid with a devil for a boyfriend and his snarky, perverted demon for a butler. And on top of that, I have to get used to having a father figure in my life and learn to use a samurai sword and worry about other demons coming to get me for who only knows what and the only best friend I've ever had is sitting in bed with broken bones and head injuries. If you want to pick a fight with me, now is not the time. I am in no mood to start stuff with you. I will not be insulted and derided by you. I'll show you I am not a selfish coward!"

She charged down the hallway, feet stomping loudly enough to wake the dead. Sebastian chuckled as she slammed Beatrix's door shut. She decided to face her fears after all.

"The master certainly has strange taste in women."

The doorbell rang. As much as he would have liked to mull over his thoughts on Tempest and other daydreams, duty called. He could not be tardy.


	18. Chapter 18

Another week, another week I wish I was somewhere else. Alas, school starts next week for me. If that was all I had to do, then you would have no reason to worry. Unfortunately, on this past Wednesday, my body reacted negatively to all the stress I have been put under this past week. I'll just make a long story short and just say that a now-former friend of mine decided to start drama two weeks before I start school again and then I find out that she's been lying to me and manipulating my emotions so I would feel sorry for her. So, combined with everything else I've got on my plate, I had my first, and hopefully last, panic attack and went to the hospital. Luckily, I had just enough creative juice to write this one chapter. I wanted to make it longer and add more details, but I just didn't have it in me today. With any luck, I'll get my mojo back by Monday. If not, then I apologize for not updating as scheduled. Have a nice day and don't run with your spears (I need to stop watching Avatar before bed.)

* * *

Lo and behold, a woman stood on the doorstep, suitcases at her feet and strange looking parcels strapped on her back. She was Japanese with the deepest shade of black in her hair he had ever seen. The darkness of her hair only stood out more with the unusual coloring of her eyes. Green eyes were not unusual in the west. Naturally green eyes in Japan was, however, not normal, unnatural especially with the woman's double iris features. The black frames sitting on the bridge of her nose gave her the appearance of one of those 'naughty librarians,' if you were attracted to that sort of thing. Her features were rough, worn down some with stress and time, but she remained easy on the eyes. It seemed that she had seen better days. Judging by her appearance, she must have been no older than a woman in her late thirties or early forties. She had frown lines, which in certain light would only make her look older. They were barely visible to be honest. Some of her hair was turning gray. Sebastian spotted possibly three or four strands of hair that appeared lighter than the rest, however he didn't want to seem rude by focusing on those same strands that proved her age.

Her lips were drawn into a taut line. A burning cigarette was stuck between her teeth.

He tried not to inhale.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" Sebastian forced himself to grin and bare it. He spent several months avoiding Beatrix and her disgusting habit. He learned how to avoid it when possible.

The woman removed the cigarette from betwixt her pale lips. It was dropped from her long, manly fingers to the concrete deck, the embers still burning as they hit the ground. She stamped the cigarette with the toe of her chunky, industrial boot.

"You can tell me where to find this damned Bathory is so I can give her the beating of a lifetime." Her English was very good. There wasn't even the slightest hint of an accent.

Sebastian thought for a moment.

"Are you the associate of Undertaker's, I presume?"

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" She scoffed, picking up the heavy-looking suitcases herself.

The woman made no introduction of herself. No name, no small talk. She said nothing about her connection with Undertaker or where he was at the moment. Instead, she lumbered inside, suitcases weighing her down on either side. She nearly pushed Sebastian out of the way. She was tall, very tall for a woman and she carried herself with an air of powerful lioness, dangerous to all those who she hunted. There was also an air of dignity around her. It would not be a surprise if she said she was born from a noble samurai clan. She held herself up as if she had nothing to fear and that most of the people she would meet were beneath her.

"Where is he, by the by?" He bent over to pick up her luggage. He was quickly deterred by the rather sharp end of a katana sword.

The tip of the sword threatened to slice open his neck. She sneered down at him. There was a dangerous look in her emerald eyes. Silently, she threatened him to make even the slightest move. Her face seemed to say, 'Go ahead, I _dare_ you.'

Sebastian raised his hands defensively and backed away slowly.

"I can carry my luggage myself, thank you very much," she snarled.

Her sword was quickly replaced on her back. At least that solved the mystery of what the strange parcel she carried on her back was.

She inhaled deeply and sighed. She seemed to be trying to calm herself.

"As for where that ridiculous man went, I don't know. Said something about visiting an old friend. Don't know who she is though. The way he was gushing over her, it sounded like an old lover, if you ask me. Wouldn't surprise me." She added with sneer.

The new look on her face nearly sent shivers down Sebastian's spine. He made a note not to make this woman angry.

"And what is your name, Miss, so I may properly inform the master of the house."

"Kaeda Soga." She answered bluntly.

Sebastian bowed lightly from his waist. He immediately turned, not wanting to stand in her company any longer than necessary. He had barely caught his master passing through Beatrix's doorway. The door was left open slightly. Sebastian entered almost directly after him.

Beatrix was sitting up in her bed, wearing pink flannel pajamas decorated with skulls and crossbones. Her hair needed to redyed; her roots were showing. Sebastian wasn't at all surprised that she was actually blonde beneath it all.

_It certainly explains a lot,_ frankly, he thought to himself. He tried not to smile at this.

Apparently, he failed. Beatrix shot him a look.

"What are you smiling at?" Having broken ribs and other injuries did not damage her ability to spot devious thoughts running through Sebastian's head. She frowned deeply, cocking her eyebrow as she impatiently waited for his answer.

Sebastian quickly feigned a face of surprise. "Nothing at all, Bathory. I was just noticing your hair. It looks different today."

"Um, thank you?" The reaper didn't know what to make of his comment. Perhaps it meant nothing. Then again, nothing with that man meant nothing. She'd have to wait until she was fully recovered from her injuries before asking him again why he was smiling like a certain Undertaker who just found a book of dirty jokes.

"Is my dad here?" Tempest piped in. She was waiting nervously for her turn to speak.

"He is in New York at this very moment, but he is not here, specifically. His associate is waiting downstairs in the foyer. She said that he went to visit an 'old friend.' I must assume that he has gone to see your mother's grave again."

"And what's _her_ name," Beatrix didn't mean to come off jealous, not that she cared if her replacement was a woman. It didn't matter to her at all.

"Kaeda Soga." He answered.

The color in her cheeks vanished. Beatrix went pale, like she had just been told that her car had been pushed into the river and lay at the bottom of the Hudson.

"Are you absolutely sure that she said Kaeda Soga?"

Sebastian nodded. "Quite certain."

She swallowed hard and looked at Tempest with pitying eyes.

"You are in so much trouble. We all are." She grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it.

Tempest scooted closer to the bed. She was sitting on a chair by Beatrix's bedside.

Beatrix removed the pillow so they could all hear her properly. Her eyes appeared very serious. Whoever this woman was, she was not one to contend with if the look she was making proved anything.

"Kaeda Soga is a ruthless dictator. She makes William look like a slack-jawed, pipe-smoking hippie. There's no better reaper than her. Except Undertaker, of course. She's number two on the list of top reapers in the world. They say that her family makes their death scythes out of the bones of demons they've slaughtered and their swords can cleave any devil clean through the middle."

There was a long pause.

"Is there anything else we should be informed about?" Ciel had been standing silently in the corner of the room. It was almost as if he blended in with the shadows.

Beatrix wondered if he had gone insane. "Good grief man," she exclaimed. "You should be terrified!"


	19. Chapter 19

I know it's late, but I've just had a really bad week. Lots of drama and on top of that, my computer won't charge, thus the battery is dead, and my allergies have decided to kick in. I sound like a habitual smoker; don't get me started on what else is going wrong with my body. Anyway, I'll try to make up for it later this week, hopefully. I can't promise you, but I will try my best to write those two chapters from next week. Please enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Tempest ventured downstairs, by herself, in order to meet her new 'bodyguard.' She descended down the stairs slowly and quietly, walking down with the pads of her feet pressing carefully down each step. There were bags at the bottom of the stairs, but there was no one in sight. As Tempest came closer to the bottom, she could smell the familiar odor of a freshly lit cigarette. It was then she noticed that the front door was opened by just a crack.

She froze at the bottom of the staircase, incredibly nervous. From what she had been told by Beatrix, this Kaede Soga was not a woman to be taken lightly. To be honest, she reminded Tempest of her gym coach in her junior year in high school. Not a pleasant lady.

Just as Tempest was about to head for the door herself, it burst open. A Japanese woman with a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth held the door open as Undertaker and another woman, dressed entirely in red, passed through the doorway, dragging inside various suitcases. Before she knew it, her father's arms were wrapped firmly around her. Undertaker lifted her up in the air like she was rag doll.

"How is my little Tempy?" He cooed as he hugged and twirled her around the foyer.

Tempest blushed like a bride. She hated his nickname for her.

"I'd be better if you'd let me go." She answered bluntly.

Her feet met the floor gently as he set her down again. Tempest's attention was drawn to the other woman, who had started to take a serious interest in her fingertips. There was so much red on her that Tempest thought that the other woman could be spotted by a bull three miles away. But there was something off about this other woman. Something wasn't entirely right about her. Tempest recalled the many times she'd have to rely on public transportation, seeing women just like on her on the bus, the subway system, and in the streets. As a New York City citizen, the odd and the strange was a common sight for her. It was normal to see a person like this woman, who might not have been a woman her entire life. But who was Tempest to judge?

"Hi," she said politely.

It took a few minutes for the other woman to turn her attention from her nails. She looked up and gave her a small, but toothy grin.

"Hello, dear."

"Don't mind Sutcliff, she's just a touch jealous of your mother." Undertaker chimed in.

"I see," Tempest never had the experience of dealing with someone who was jealous of her dead mother. As far she knew, there wasn't anything going on between this woman and her father. However, she was still new and didn't know everything about him yet. They were still getting to know each other.

Kaede, or at least the woman Tempest assumed was Kaede Soga, cleared her throat. When they all turned about face, the woman was standing in the middle of the stairs. The suitcases were placed beside the staircase, out of the way.

"While I do enjoy a family reunion, I believe we have business to attend to." She quickly turned around and climbed the stairs, a trail of smoking followed after her.

Silently, they followed. Almost by instinct Kaede found Beatrix's room and went inside without even knocking. The room became overcrowded and felt stuffy. Two of the party, Undertaker and Sutcliff, took their leave. Only Kaede, Beatrix, and Tempest were left in the room. Sebastian and Ciel were nowhere to be found. The other reaper scolded at the one in bed with almost a deathly glare.

"You stupid girl." She said, shaking her head.

Tempest scooted away to the furthest part of the room. Even with fewer people within the bedroom, the energy still seemed to be suffocating. Even with just three people, Tempest felt like she was in a room filled with hundreds of people or crammed inside a bus up to full, legal capacity. The smoke from Kaede's didn't help. It only made the room all the more stifling.

"What did you just call me?" In a brief instance of deviance, she shot Kaede a glare.

Kaede's heavy boots marched over to the bed.

"You stupid girl." She repeated.

And like that, Beatrix was silenced into submission.

"There were ways you could have fought back. You should have been more prepared. Knowing that there are others looking for your charge, you should have been more prepared for an attack, at any time, with any weapon, and with any amount of assailants. And at a headquarters at that! You got cocky. The next time they won't be so merciful and allow you to live."

Beatrix continued to say nothing. This woman scared her and Tempest had never seen Beatrix scared before. Not even with her dad, but then again it could have been an act then too. Judging by Kaede's character, there were plenty of reasons to be afraid. But, Tempest could not just stand, cowering in a corner and watch as her friend, her only true friend, be emotionally assaulted. Being new to the whole grim reaper thing, she was sure she didn't carry much authority. The only reason why she could get away with anything was because of her father. She wasn't sure if Kaede would listen to her. Standing around like a scared child while her friend was bullied was not what she wanted, and this was the only thing she was certain of.

Tempest took a deep breath for strength. She forced her feet to move towards the bed. Kaede was still ranting on and on when she tapped her on the shoulder. Kaede paused, turned slightly towards her shoulder, and gave her a quick glance. She turned her head again and took the cigarette from her mouth. A stream of smoke escaped through the air as she exhaled. She turned her whole body around and faced the young woman.

"May I help you?" it was more of a threatening acceptance of Tempest's challenge than a polite question.

"Stop bullying my friend," Tempest started. "I don't care if you're one of the highest grim reapers in the world. You don't talk to my friend like that, especially if she's been beaten up and lying in bed with broken ribs. You're not a reaper, you're a bully. And I can't stand bullies."

She hoped that she sounded confident enough not to earn a deriding speech from her superior. Her knees were knocking beneath Kaede's menacing gaze. She didn't mean for them to do that. The woman had that kind of effect on her. She was tougher than Beatrix and serious as Sebastian, a deadly combination. Still, Tempest stood her ground. She planted her feet firmly to the floor and kept Kaede from seeing her knees from shaking by keeping eye contact with her.

Kaede took her cigarette out from her mouth again. Tapping it, ashes fell onto the floor. She didn't say anything for the longest time. She kept her eyes on Tempest, sizing up the girl like an opponent on the battlefield. She wasn't entirely happy that the girl insulted her and questioned her authority, but she had to admit no one had ever had the guts to do it, not in the longest time.

She shoved her cigarette between two fingers and pointed them directly in Tempest's face.

"I like you." The other two ladies in the room were rather put off by this statement. It was certainly not what the expected.

Kaede gave her small grin. "I like you," she repeated. "You stood up to me. Not a lot of people can say that and live to tell the tale. It shows me you're of strong characters. I like that. You're not afraid to say what's on your mind and tell it like it is. It's been too long since someone had the guts to speak against me."

She retracted her hand. Kaede moved around Tempest to the door. She stopped in the middle of the doorway. Turning her head slightly over, she looked at Tempest.

"But don't do it again," she said with almost jokingly.


	20. Chapter 20

"You didn't have to do that. I kind of deserved it." Beatrix said in an uncharacteristic tone.

Tempest shook her head. "I don't like bullies." She simply replied.

"Help me out of this bed, then. I don't intend to stay cooped up in here for the next two months." She sounded more like the woman Tempest was more familiar with. The grim reaper slowly rose into a sitting position.

Very carefully, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Tempest stood up, watching closely and readied herself to lend a hand.

Beatrix pointed over to her dresser. "If you could, look for some clothes in there for me." Her fingers went to work in unbuttoning her pajama top.

Tempest went over and pulled open the top-most drawer, which contained nothing but tops and shirts. She gave a quick glance over at Beatrix from over her shoulder. There were darkened bruises all over the woman's ribcage. The sight nearly sickened Tempest to look at, so she returned to the drawer. Beatrix, never on to be overly-neat or just plain tidy, usually stuffed her clothes in drawers without folding them. There was no system of organization. Colors, whites, and black shirts were jumbled to together in that small space. It was a wonder how she managed to unceremoniously stuff so many pieces of clothing into a single drawer. Tempest dug her hands in as if she was fishing at the bottom of a murky kitchen sink for a spoon she'd dropped. Her hands passed over several different kinds of fabrics, some rough, some smooth as cotton. There were so many of them and Beatrix didn't actually give her an idea of what she wanted to where. She picked out in random fashion a plain, red t-shirt with short sleeves.

From another drawer, Tempest pulled out a pair of black sweat-pants. She had no medical training whatsoever, but she could have guessed that wearing those tight pants Beatrix liked to wear so much was not good for her.

Beatrix was already struggling to remove the bottoms from her legs. After putting the clothes on the bed, Tempest helped her take off the remaining piece of clothing. The task of putting new ones was easier said than done. Tempest had to be careful of not only Beatrix's ribcage, but also her hand. The wrist was broken in three places, so said Sebastian. Occasionally, Beatrix winced or grimaced even when Tempest was doing her very best to be careful and take things slowly. It was reasonable that Beatrix still suffered from the excruciating pain of broken bones and cracked ribs. It was only day four after the attack. Tempest doubted that Beatrix should have been out of bed, but apparently she found the strength to get out of bed.

The reaper shoved her feet into a pair of slippers that had been lying on the side of the bed. She slowly rose, putting her right arm across her ribs. Beatrix wobbled slightly, which gave Tempest enough to worry.

"Maybe you should just get back into bed?" She suggested while she placed a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder.

"No, no," Beatrix answered stubbornly, "we're all going to a talk about this whole mess and I'd rather be there. I don't need you to be my go-between or relay person. I'd rather hear it all with my own ears."

Tempest sighed with an air of acceptance and worry. "Fine, but don't come crying to me when you have trouble climbing up the stairs later."

* * *

Sebastian entered the dining hall shortly after leaving Beatrix's bedroom. The dining hall was set more like a meeting place than a place for eating. The table was bare. Not even a glass of water or wine was placed on it. Ciel sat at his natural place as head of the table. Even Sebastian had to admit that his master looked more appropriate with years added to his age. He appeared more serious and refined than the form of a thirteen-year-old boy he had grown accustomed to for so many years.

"Undertaker and his associate have arrived here, my lord." He announced.

Ciel stirred in his chair. He lifted his head from its resting place on his hand. It seemed that Sebastian had interrupted his thoughts.

"Good." There was no emotion in his voice.

"As well as Grell Sutcliff."

That sent a shiver down Ciel's spine for sure.

"As if dealing with Undertaker wasn't enough." He mumbled.

"Indeed, sir. I understand that dealing with in-laws can be quite difficult."

"Would you stop calling him that!" Ciel snapped. There rose a slight hue to his cheeks.

Sebastian was about to say something further, all the while stifling a chuckle at the fact that Ciel still blushed, when the dining room doors flew open with a crash. It all happened so very fast. Even he didn't see it coming. There a flash of red, quick as lightening and nothing more. There was a great weight added to his back and the overwhelming rose-scented perfume filled his senses. In a way, he missed Grell when he was just a woman's trapped in a man's body.

"Have you missed me, darling?" Grell's feminine voice rang like an annoying bell in his ears. It was most unfortunate that their last meeting did not end in Sutcliff's demise.

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably as Grell wrapped his/her arms around his shoulders. Her now-soft chest pressed against his back.

"That mean Beatrix got in the way last time. It's been so long! Too long if you ask me."

Bile rose in Sebastian's throat.

Suddenly, Grell's attention seemed to drift somewhere else. Her weight fell off of him. In another flash, Grell was attacking Ciel with affection. She had no boundaries.

"Well, well," she smiled with glee. "Who is this handsome fellow I see before me?"

"That is my master, Ciel Phantomhive." Sebastian answered for him.

Grell paused. Her arms were wrapped around Ciel's shoulders and she practically sat in his lap. She looked at Sebastian then to Ciel then back to Sebastian. Her appearance was confused; bright green eyes like deer in headlights. She looked at Ciel again, brushing away his boyishly cut hair. Once she saw the familiar eye-patch, Grell jumped back almost a hundred feet in shock. She stuck out a perfectly manicured nail at the man seated at the table, a look of horror and shock written distinctly and unmistakably on her face.

"_That's_ Ciel Phantomhive?" She nearly screamed in disbelief.

"Yes," Sebastian nodded.

Grell looked confused again, but after several minutes of letting the information sink in, a new expression came across her face.

Cupping her cheeks in her hands, she stared in awe at Ciel's new appearance.

"Lithe, boyish, like a young Lord Byron! Why didn't I see it sooner!" She went and attacked him with a vicious hug. Her V-neck shirt perfectly exposed the ample line of her bust, which was nearly pressed completely into Ciel's face.

"I would not do such things if I were you, Sutcliff. You know how American women are when it comes to their partners."

"What are American women like, Sebastian?" Tempest entered the dining room, holding her hand behind Beatrix's back in order to help the former move more easily.

Tempest had not yet seen the scene at the head of the table.


	21. Chapter 21

Stepping further inside, Tempest was more preoccupied with getting Beatrix into a chair safely. At least for only a minute or two.

When she and Beatrix fully entered the dining hall, her eyes immediately fell upon Ciel…caught in the arms of another woman. Being rational, her shock and hatred was geared towards Ciel. He knew better and they had a contract together. She assumed that infidelity would break it and he had promised her loyalty. No, anything she felt was drawn to the 'other woman,' Grell Sutcliff. Grell didn't seem to be all that impressed. As a matter of fact, she did nothing. She nothing to help the situation. Her arms were still around Ciel, but at least she moved her chest further away from his face.

Wordlessly, Tempest helped Beatrix into a chair. The air in the room became stifling. It was several minutes before she did anything else. No one said a word. They feared that by saying something, even a single word, could make her snap. Granted, they were all British and lived upon the stereotype that all American women go crazy when their husbands or boyfriends cheat on them and that they were easily made jealous. However, Tempest showed no signs of jealousy, hatred, or anger besides the sharp glare she was sending Sutcliff. The sound of her boots marching around the table to the other side of it filled the hall. A strange smile grew across her lips, an insane smile.

Beatrix watched her closely. She could see the muscles in Tempest's body tightening. She glanced over at Sebastian and motioned for him to come closer. He leaned in as she whispered in his ear.

"Be very careful. Quiet women are not to be taken lightly when their man is involved. She could snap any second now."

"Is Tempest likely to cause a fight?" Sebastian wondered aloud.

Beatrix gave him a disbelieving look. "You've never handled a jealous woman, have you?"

Tempest didn't know what to think. It wasn't Ciel's fault. She knew that. But that red head. She never could trust red heads before. Seeing her with arms wrapped around Ciel's shoulders, her breasts practically in his face, sent an electric shock through her brain. The rational part of Tempest brain was silenced. A more barbaric, primordial need to defend what was hers overcame the modern barriers of rationality and calm. She couldn't help but smile. Now obviously she wasn't happy at the moment. She couldn't help it. Perhaps she was more like her father than she thought?

"Hello. Having fun over there?" It was hard to say who the question was intended for since both parties looked guilty of something.

Ciel took it as if the question was meant for him. He raised his hands up defensively, trying to push Grell off of him.

"I can explain," he started, but he didn't get a chance to finish what he was about to say.

"Not now, sweeting. The ladies are talking right now." Her statement and the way she said it was completely out of character for Tempest. No one suspected her to be the violent or jealous type. Or the violently jealous type.

Ciel shut his mouth, not out of obedience but because this Tempest was scary, terrifying even. Grell felt it too. She jumped away from him again.

"You know," Tempest turned to Grell, still smiling that maniacal smile, "we have saying this side of the pond. It goes a little like this: touch my man again and I'm going to mess you up."

"Mess me up?" The phrase seemed to be unfamiliar with Grell.

"Yes," she began walking towards her, murder in her eyes and daggers in her smile. "It means that if I catch you with your scrawny arms around my man again, or if you even think about going near him, I have every right to take you outside and kick your ass."

Grell seemed utterly unaffected by her threats.

"He's not all that hot any way." She scoffed.

Tempest didn't believe her. She marched even closer until their faces were so close that their noses almost touched.

"Touch my man again, I'm going to mess you up."

"You're crazy."

"Of course I'm crazy. What makes you think I was sane?"


	22. Chapter 22

Really you guys? One review every two weeks? You're really bumming me out. I know I haven't exactly been keeping to my planned schedule. But as I have stated before, a lot of things have come up and lately I haven't been able to get my hands on a computer long enough for me type. You're making me think that you don't want me to continue. It's really kind of depressing. If I don't get enough reviews, I may not be as motivated as with the first installment to finish. I know this may be asking a lot but, I would like at least 10 reviews by next Tuesday. I know some of you may have been disappointed with the ending of 'Phantom of the Theater,' but this one is really good. I promise. I just need more time. Please read AND review. Thank you so much.

* * *

"Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty," Kaede announced herself with her sarcasm.

Tempest made a motion with her hand at Grell. She mouthed the words, 'I'm watching you' as she made the gesture. She pointed to her eyes with two fingers and then pointed one at Grell. They parted ways with a 'humph' and went to opposite ends of the table.

Undertaker took a seat sat across from Tempest and next to Ciel. He reached into his robes, looking for something. After several minutes, his long hand pulled out an envelope. The parcel was extended across the table to Tempest.

"This I found at your mother's grave, along with some other gifts."

Tempest took it, but reluctantly. She chewed on her lower lip as the envelope was passed from her father's hand to hers. The parcel wasn't old. The envelope was rather new and modern. It felt warm in her hands. She guessed that it must have stood out in the sunlight for a while.

"What else did you find there?" Asked Ciel.

"A baptismal gown, and flowers. Lots of them."

"Another one?" Ciel seemed to be asking all the questions.

"There are more?" Undertaker looked at Ciel quizzically and confused.

He nodded. "Two others. I came across the first right after you and Tempest left for England. And again when she arrived back in New York. What does it look like?"

Undertaker rifled through his robes again. He produced a neatly folded cloth from his pocket. The fabric was unfurled, revealing an infant's gown, yellow and worn with age. The lace hemming the bottom was torn. There were many more stains than in the previous gowns. This dress owned watermarks and stains with unknown and undeterminable origins. It wasn't as well-kept as the other two. Kaede took it from his hands and examined it closely, holding it directly against she glasses.

"By the looks of it, mid-twentieth century satin with Venetian lace. A girl's baptismal gown, more lace is used for female children. Unknown designer and no identifying tags."

The people around her gave her a look. She seemed pretty miffed. Throwing it on the table in front of Tempest with a huff.  
"I know my fabrics. So what?" She grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

"Then what's in the envelope." Asked Tempest, trying to hide her shaking legs underneath the table.

Undertaker shrugged. "I haven't opened it."

Tempest's eyes darted for the envelope in her hands. The glue holding it together was still in place. Gently and carefully, she began pulling the tab open. The seconds turned into agonizing hours, so it seemed. The envelope hadn't been sealed for very long. It came open with very little effort. Inside was yet another letter. Tempest pulled it out. As she was doing this, two pieces of paper fell into her lap. Picking them up, she noticed they were tickets to a show, stamped and dated in dark black ink.

"Mag? I haven't heard that name in a while." She put the tickets on the table.

"Who's Mag?" Asked Ciel.

"An independent musical performer. Think along the lines of Emilie Autumn but with a more gothic feel than Victorian-industrial."

"I don't know who that is either."

"Well, it doesn't matter at the moment does it," Kaede sounded like an over-bearing mother-figure trying to grab her children's attention, "What's in the letter?"

Tempest pulled out the parchments. She read a little on the first page before reading from it.

"It's addressed under my birth name. 'You may not know me but I know you.' That's not creepy at all," she paused, "'Don't be frightened. I am only trying to help you. You are in grave danger. Please, listen. There are people in high positions who want to keep some things secret. And you and I may just pay the price for it. If you want to meet face to face, come to the Mag show this Friday night. Bring a guest if you feel unsafe. Signed, A Friend.'"

There was a prolonged moment of silence.

"Is that all?" Kaede sounded impatient.

"Does do they mean by 'people in high positions who want to keep some things secret?'" Tempest handed the letter to Ciel.

Kaede shrugged and she turned a stern eye to her. "That depends. These 'people in high positions' could be anybody. More importantly, what kind of people. If they're human, you don't have anything to worry about. If they're grim reapers, you just may be screwed."

"Oh, thank you for the vote of confidence," Tempest sighed heavily and slumped lazily back into her chair.

Ciel read the letter silently. The handwriting of the letter and the poems were one and the same. It was without a doubt he concluded that they both were penned by the same hand. If Michael McIntyre could be trusted in his authority in penmanship and writing analysis, which was very difficult and Ciel doubted his credibility, it was possible that it was a woman writing these letters. And if she was, there was a perfect invitation to meet face to face. Or a trap. It couldn't be that easy, he thought, being a true-born skeptic and thinking only of Tempest's protection. A trap was not too far-fetched. There had been other half-brained schemes he could think of. Still, to ignore this may prove fatal and they could lose their chance of finding whoever this person was. In the best case scenario, the stranger in question could be useful. Worse case scenario, they were going to be killed by Ciel, or at least Sebastian, or held captive for questioning. This person knew too much about Tempest for their own good. Too much personal information in the wrong hands was certainly not what he wanted. He turned towards Undertaker.

"Can you secure a small number of officers from the local dispatch in case things go array?"

"You don't think someone may attack again?" Tempest sat up, alarmed.

Ciel patted her hand. "It's better safe than sorry."

Undertaker nodded. "I can try."

"What should we do about _this_ one then," Kaede pointed her thumb at Beatrix, who had been sitting the back like she was invisible. "She's of no use as long her ribs are broken. We also can't leave her alone. Whoever attacked her in the first place might come back and finish the job."

"She can stay here," Sebastian suggested, "I'll stand guard while the Master is away. If that is agreeable with you, sir."

"Do whatever you want to do. We'll have enough man-power Friday night. You might not even be needed."

"Of course, sir." Sebastian bowed.

* * *

Tempest went up to bed earlier than usual. She played a bad hostess by all standards. She spoke very few words with her guests, particularly with Kaede. Half of the time, she couldn't even look her father in the face or glance at Ciel. She picked around her food for a while, but ate nevertheless, very slowly and didn't even savor a morsel.

Her mind was overloaded with questions that could not be answered. A dark thought crept into her head that told her that perhaps, though it seemed highly unlikely, that Damon had come back to life. They never did find his body and nobody else did either. It may have been New York City, however eventually a body was bound to turn up. Alessandra couldn't have been lying. One doesn't make up a story like that, especially about one's own brother. More importantly, Alessandra didn't seem to be the kind of demon who would lie about something like that. In fact, it sounded like she was proud of that fact that she committed fratricide.

For a good hour or more, Tempest lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling until she fell asleep. Her dream was blurry. It took her back to the days when her vision was close to blindness. She could make out blobs of color and if she was lucky, a form or two. This wasn't one of her usual dreams. Everything in front of her was blurred.

There were two women talking. Tempest heard her mother's voice, but didn't know whose voice belonged to the other. A door slammed open.

"Christina, who is this?" She heard her grandmother.

"You should know, _Mom_." There was a pause. "All this time and you didn't bother to tell me…"

"This woman is not my child."

"Look at her! We look exactly alike! How can you look me in the eyes and tell me she isn't my sister!"

"You don't!"

"You're a liar and a hypocrite!"

"Don't you dare yell at me! I don't who this woman is. I don't know what lies she been feeding you, but she did not come out of _my_ womb."

There was more yelling back and forth between her mother and grandmother. The other woman was never heard of again. The two women yelled at each other until the world became black. Tempest woke with a start, gasping for breath and cold sweat running down her forehead. She opened her eyes to find that she was still in the bedroom she fell asleep in and her eyes were normal.

The bedroom was pitch black. The curtains were drawn, but she could still see a sliver of silver moonlight dividing the floor. There was a rustling of the sheets beside her and a cool hand touched her arm.

Tempest nearly jumped out of her skin and out of bed. She grabbed the hand that took hold of her arm, her fingernails scratching slightly.

"Tempest, it's me." Ciel's voice rang in her ears.

She turned her head to find him, dark shadows under his eye and his eye patch was resting on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

Burying her face in his chest, she sat like that for several minutes.

"I just had the weirdest dream. I think I was a kid again and everything was blurry, like before, and I heard my mom's voice and this lady. My grandma came in. There was yelling. And…and…" Tempest didn't know what else to say.

"Go on." Ciel insisted, patting down her hair, smoothing out the frayed strands.

"I think I may have an aunt…" Even she didn't believe it.


	23. Chapter 23

Sebastian walked behind Ciel as they marched rather calmly down the corridor; the butler a few steps behind his master.

"Undertaker has managed to secure six dispatch officers for tomorrow evening. I have also been told that there will be a background of all employees and attendees, a twenty-four hour surveillance between now and before the concert, and Undertaker himself will be present, heading the operation." Sebastian finished explaining.

"And Tempest?" A look of deep concern crossed Ciel's face.

"A little anxious, no doubt from the memory of her last public appearance."

His hand reached out for the doorknob. He was about to turn it when a noise escaped past the barrier of the door. There was shouting from the bedroom door which made Ciel freeze where he stood. He seized the handle firmly in his hand and burst through the room. It was not quite what he expected, to say the least.

Clothes were thrown which ever way. In all directions, there was some small pile built up and in other places the clothes accumulated to form a mountain. Beatrix sat in the chair in the furthest corner, far, far away from the major disaster zone. She looked rather displeased, a frown set firmly in place. In her lap sat yet another pile of clothes. The reaper was leaning against her hand, still pouting by the time Ciel and Sebastian wandered in, skillfully avoiding the piles like land mines.

"Oh good, you're here. You may be of better use than me in this department," she rose and let the clothes fall and tumble from her lap. Walking away, she left them there for Sebastian to pick up at some future date.

"I'm confused. What is all this?" Ciel was almost afraid to ask. He wondered if Sutcliff was the culprit behind this shameful mess.

Beatrix pointed with her thumb towards the private bath, "Your girlfriend can't find anything to wear. She's been at this for the past hour or so. I don't even know anymore! She's your problem now." She made her way over the mountains, gently holding onto her ribs. "I'll be out in the garden, napping. Good luck." She added with a touch of sarcasm.

Ciel made his way over to the bathroom door, leaving Sebastian to look around in dismay. Ciel knocked softly as to not to startle her.

"Tempest," he leaned in against the door.

There was a shuffling of feet. She scrambled to the door.

"Don't come in. I'm indecent!"

He could hear Sebastian chuckle from behind his back. With a sharp, demanding glare, the butler was silenced and he went to work collecting the various kinds of clothing from the floor.

"I don't intend to, if you do not wish it. Is there something wrong? This isn't like you to make such a mess."

"I'm sorry." Her whisper was barely audible.

Luckily, he was a demon.

"You mustn't worry about such things. Sebastian will take care of it. Tell me what bothers you."

There was a long moment of silence. He could hear her breathing heavily, but this was also hardly noticeable. The only other sound that pricked at Ciel's sensitive ears were the sounds of fabric rustling at his back with Sebastian's footsteps not far behind.

"Is Sebastian still out there?"

"Yes."

Tempest paused again. "Could you send him away for a few minutes?"

Without even glancing over his shoulder, Ciel so ordered, "Take a brake, Sebastian. I think that Beatrix would like some company."

"Sir?" Sebastian was half-stooping to the floor, picking up the clothes.

"Leave us alone for a while. You can come back later and clean."

Sebastian's load, which really wasn't all that much, was promptly dumped into the hamper beside the door. Just before he took his leave, he bowed deeply from his waist.

"Yes, my lord."

Ciel watched him go until his swishing swallow-tail coat was out of sight. Once he was gone and the door firmly shut after him, Ciel returned his post. Leaning in just a touch further, gingerly at that, he continued speaking.

"He is gone now." He fought back the urge to tear down the barrier separating them from each other. His fingernails dug into his palms.

"Don't tell anyone that I told you this, but...I'll be honest. I'm scared to death," she laughed slightly, "No pun intended."

"I know." In regard to her fear.

"I'm not as brave as you think I am."

"I'll be there right beside you, all the way."

"I love you."

He swallowed hard. "I...love you as well."

They stayed as they were for the longest time, neither one of them moving, not an inch. His weight against the solid door was beginning to take a toll on him. Ciel felt himself grow heavier within her presence. Without even seeing her face to face, a weight was tied around his chest and he felt as if he was falling down a black hole. He had feelings again. How was this even possible?

The dire need to see her was pressing against his brain and his heart. She was not the only one who had something to be afraid of. The possibility of rejection was very high in his mind. Still, he couldn't stand this brief separation. She needed him beside her at this critical time, though she would do no such thing as to admit when she needed help. That was one of her flaws. A stubborn woman she was.

"Can you at least open the door for me? I want to see you." He was testing the boundaries in their relationship. One wrong move and they could very well end up where they started.

"G-give me sec," there was a rustling of fabric.

With a loud click, the lock was undone and the door swung open. Ciel didn't see her at first. She hid half behind the opened door, in nothing but a bathrobe. A warm blush colored her cheeks an embarrassing shade of red. She closed it reluctantly. Her eyes darted for the white tile floor at her feet. Her fingers were entwined within the plush threads of her bathrobe. Or at least she tried her best to avoid his gaze. Sadly, her attempts failed. Tempest could not forestall his deep gaze boring into her, his eye tearing down her walls just by looking at her. He was neither stern nor ambiguous, his usual demeanor a mystery. Ciel almost appeared to be as a human man, with all the capabilities and faculties built for love. His eye, uncovered by his still-boyish hair, was more than just a window. It was a two-way mirror. Tempest could only see herself as she was in his eyes, in his mind.

They eyed each other like curious animals from their separate corners. Tempest, having no experience in the matters of the heart or consensual intercourse with a man, stood, hands now firmly clutching the hems of her robe's sleeves, waiting for him to make the first move.

Ciel focused on her, not like a hunter at his prey, but as a man standing tall for the woman he loved deeply as he physically could. She was shaking; her trembling barely visible. He edged closer, stopping once in a while to find any sort of reaction from her. Since Tempest raised no objection, he approached and as he stood in front of her, he saw how nervous she really was. She was trembling and her face was as flushed and red as a virgin on her wedding night.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head. Surprisingly, she leaned into, burying her face in his chest just as she had done the night before, when her strange dream had awoken her from sleep.

"Just hold me a while," she whispered.

His arms snaked about her waist, forming a strong, reassuring and protective hold on her.

"As you wish."


	24. Chapter 24

Thank you so much for your support. I've just been dealing with a lot of issues and some days I honestly thought of chucking the whole thing out. But thank you so much for encouraging me. It was very helpful. Since we're going into the 24th chapter, I've been thinking that perhaps I could write longer chapters. Just so more stuff can get done and we'll move along faster in the story. There's a lot of plots and ideas that I want to use, but I also don't want to have another fanfic that's 100 chapters long. Tell me what you think. I live for reviews.

* * *

"One more touch," Beatrix curled the final strand in Tempest's hair.

She looked at herself in the mirror, fanciful ringlets dancing in a black cascade as she shook her head. Her hair was pulled up high in a pony-tail and each lock was meticulously curled, sprayed, and gelled in place. Nary a curl would move, so claimed Beatrix, who apparently knew more about hair than one would believe.

She helped clasp a ribbon choker about the girl's neck. It was wide enough to hide the contract seal. Without a collar, Tempest's neck would have been vulnerable. The seal would have brought unwanted attention. It had taken hours at the nearest shopping mall to find a suitable dress, one that wasn't too fancy, but had just the right amount of class. A dark blue halt neck dress with a rouched waist and a skirt that dropped to her knees. It was hemmed with black tulle at the bottom. The fabric lightly swished as she made any sort of movement. The heels on her feet were clicking on the floor in a loud, manic fashion.

It didn't take long for Beatrix to notice this. She placed her hand on Tempest's shoulder.

"Something on your mind, girly?"

Silently, she shook her head.

Beatrix went over to the wall and unplugged the hot hair curler. She turned to her friend, still fidgeting. Her brow was cocked. She knew better than to believe in Tempest's silence.

"You're a horrible liar, you know that? How can an actress, of all professions in the world, be as terrible liar as you?" Her tone was playful, but sharp.

"I'm just nervous, is all."

"About what?" She sat on the bed.

"What if it is a trap? How many people are going to die tonight because of me?"

Beatrix pointed an angry finger towards her. "Don't you start with that hogwash! No body is going to die. And get that idea out of your pretty little head. We're prepared more than ever. Your dad's going to be there and so are other reapers. You've got a demon for a boyfriend. You need to pull up your big-girl panties, stop sucking your thumb, and light this candle. You've said that you don't want to be a damsel in distress. Well, here's your opportunity, girly. Show them, show all of them, that you're not going to back down."

Tempest's eyes widened as Beatrix's brief speech sunk in. The words were strong and if she didn't listen to her, who would she listen to. If Beatrix could recover from what she had been through, then why couldn't Tempest do the same? Time and time again, she had to be reminded who she was and who she was fighting against. To back down now would be an insult to her mother, and now her father as well as Ciel. She set standards, but didn't think she could bare them. This was the last time someone was going to tell her to be brave.

Rising up, like the phoenix from the ashes, Tempest sprang towards the bed and gave Beatrix a hug. The woman groaned. Her bones still ached.

"Not so tight, uh? My ribs are still broken, remember?" Beatrix winced.

Tempest let her go immediately, "Sorry, I forgot. Are you going to be okay here, with Sebastian, all by yourselves?"

"We'll be just fine. Don't worry about us. We can manage the fort pretty well. Plus, we'll have Kaede here after she drops you off at the theater. I think we'll do okay without you."

There was a knock at the door.

"Permission to enter?" Sebastian asked from behind the door.

"Come in," Tempest called as she grabbed her clutch purse from the vanity's table-top.

She gave herself one last look in the mirror, checking for smudges in her make-up. She double-checked that the chocker was big enough to cover the seal. Sebastian entered, bowed, only to her at least, and stood straight again.

"Your chariot awaits." He said with a smile.

"T-thank you." She brushed past him on her way out.

But, as she stood in the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. Tempest turned towards them with a strange smile on her face.

"And before I forget, if the two of you are going to do something disgusting in my bed while we're out, I'll make your lives living hell. Understood?"

Tempest didn't wait for either of them to reply. She left the room with her creepy smile and threat fresh in their minds.

Beatrix leaned back on the mattress, her hands supporting her up.

"It's almost scary how much she's turning into her father." She chuckled.

* * *

Ciel stood patiently in the foyer. Kaede was smoking another one of her cigarettes, occasionaly looking down at her own watch.

The woman didn't seem to fit Ciel's idea of what any acquitance of Undertaker. To begin with, she was serious, all the time. Her clothing of choice were suits, dark, professional, and practical. Undertaker wore a ridiculous cloak over his cassock and his outrageous hat often made him appear as a clown. Second, she frowned. He had never seen someone else frown as much as he did. Finally, there was something about her that he couldn't understand. She reminded him of someone, but the name escaped him.

"Must you really smoke inside?" He eyed her with an air of contempt for the habit.

She shook ashes to the floor.

"Must you be such a child?"

He opened his mouth to say something else, but found nothing else to say. In this case, it might have just have been better to shut his mouth. He closed it quickly before Kaede could see that he was about to say something else.

"Smoking calms my nerves. I don't _have_ to be here. I'm only here because I'm doing this a favor to Undertaker, even then, I shouldn't be doing this at all." Kaede took another drag from her cigarette.

"Why is that," Ciel choked back the urge to cough as the smoke wafted over to him.

"Undertaker has a bit of a reputation among women in the reaping business."

He was curious now. He turned a little bit towards her now, however he didn't get a chance to ask any more questions. Kaede pointed towards the top of the stairs with her burning cigarette. Ciel turned around again, his eyes following up the steps.

Tempest's dark blue dress complimented the blueness of her eyes. It was a dark, captivating color. Red was suggested by the color's fanatic fan, Sutcliff, but it would not suit her well. She belonged to the quietness of the night, where soft breezes blew against ancient willows and the stars and the moon lit the way. Red was the color of passion, but Tempest's passion was for the night. Blue suited her best, he believed.

She descended down the stairs with the grace of a noblewoman. If only he had met her a century ago, Tempest would have changed the face of theater. She moved and walked with such an air that even a king would bow to her. Ciel was so moved by the vision before him, he ran to the bottom of the stairs. Catching her by the waist, he lifted her up as if to put her on a pedestal and landed her back on her feet again. A deep blush painted her cheeks.

"Do you like it?" She chewed her lip as she waited for his answer.

"I love it…" He was going to say more, but Kaede rudely interrupted them.

She cleared her throat, annoyed. Her finger tapped on her watch.

"Get a move on love birds," she spat, turning her back on them, "We mustn't be late. I hear traffic will be horrible. If we don't get going now, we'll be late. And I know how much the _young master_ hates to be late for events."


	25. Chapter 25

Kaede opened the front door, the keys in hand.

"Undertaker has already left ahead of us. He's with the head of the New York division as we speak. There are four guards on the premises; he and I will be up on the roof top. If anyone tries to sneak in, we'll be able to spot them and neutralize the threat. Any questions?"

Tempest spotted a black, classy Mercedes Benz instead of the usual limousine.

"We're taking that?"

Ciel wrapped a silk shawl, which seemed to appear magically in his hands, as if he pulled it out thin air, about her shoulders.

"It's less conspicuous than a limousine and the windows are tinted. We can see out but no one can see in. We'll arrive as covertly as possible." He quickly stepped in front of her and opened the car door. Kaede went to the driver's seat as Tempest slid into the backseat as elegantly as possible. The engine roared into life, sending shivers of trepidation up and down Tempest's spine. She began staring off into space, suddenly finding a deep interest in the back of the passenger's head rest in front of her. She barely heard the car door close shut. As if in a trance, her hands moved automatically in pulling the seat belt across her chest and safely secure it. She remained in this state as Kaede pulled out into the street.

Neon lights, buildings, and thousands of people flew past her window. Resting her chin in her palm, Tempest stared out the window. She didn't speak. She didn't even sigh. Her lips were sewn shut almost. It was completely uncharacteristic of her to remain quiet, no; utterly silent was a better word for it. Ciel noticed how she chewed on her lower lip. He had noticed her do that a lot when she was nervous. There were very few circumstances, he was sure, that could make an actress nervous. Tempest could hold her own just fine. However, he had noticed on several occasions she had chewed on her lip.

He watched her for a while, his eye drawn to her puckered lower lip on the verge of splitting open and bleeding.

Ciel reached for her, turning her face towards him. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, edging her mouth open so her teeth would stop cut into her lip.

"Don't waste your blood like that. You'll hurt yourself by chewing on your lip."

She couldn't stand to even to at him in the face for more than a few short seconds before turning away quickly, pouting.

"Easy for you to say. You're acting perfectly calm, when who knows what is out there, waiting to strike. People could be hurt." Her tone was sharp.

"Unlikely, there has been no recent activity with the demons of New York City or anywhere along the Atlantic Coast since the Ravencraft Theater incident. The numerous dispatches have silenced any potential trouble makers." Kaede kept her eyes on the road while she spoke.

"Well, thank you, Kaede." Tempest snapped.

The Japanese reaper glared at her in the reflection of the rear-view mirror.

"Watch your tone, young lady. I can pull this thing over and make you walk."

Tempest didn't bother opening her mouth this time.

"And for the record, I'd prefer it if you'd keep your mushy love scenes down to a minimum. In case you've forgotten, I'm sitting right here."

"I knew you were there. I was not going to try anything with you in the car," Ciel leaned back into his seat.

He had no need for a seatbelt. He was a demon. He could survive anything.

Kaede snorted. "Ha, and I'm supposed to take a _demon's_ word for it? I wasn't born yesterday, sunny. And it's not the fact that you're a demon that I worry about. It's that you're a man, and men, from my experience are not very good liars. So I suggest you keep your hands to yourself when I'm with you."

"I thought you were our guard? When was it your priority to watch my every move?" Ciel quipped back.

"I'm worse than a guard," she slowed to a stop beside a busy sidewalk, "I'm than the baby-sitter. Anyway, we're here."

The three of them filed out of the car and unto the sidewalk. The massive crowds swerved around them, creating a pocket in the street. People moved around like a never flowing river. The three of them didn't stop the current of people from flowing. Tempest clung to Ciel not because she was afraid of the crowd, but because she was afraid that there was another demon among them. Kaede gave a quick look around, spun on her heels in a military-fashion, and made a motion with her hand for them to follow her. They walked down the street, crossing over to the left where a throng of more people was standing as if in line about a large Victorian building. They were all dressed in semi-casual clothing. Some were more extravagant than others.

The glowing white sign which hung above from the decorative terrace read in bold, cursive letters _Magdala: Beyond Heaven Tour._

"Magdala, does that mean anything to you?" Ciel asked.

Their faces were towards the sign. Scrawled on the edges, facing inwards, thorny vines framed the Gothic letters. The dark doors were opened and the crowd was slowly filed inside. Tempest didn't have time to think.

"Not really. Except when my religious nut of a grandmother spoke about Mary Magdala, the prostitute Jesus supposedly saved from seven demons…no offense."

"Long before my time. Let's get inside." He looked about him and found that Kaede had disappeared. "Where did she go?"

Tempest tugged on his arm. "Maybe we can wait until the show is over? We don't have to go inside. We can wait out here until our mystery host steps out."

"No, you have to face your demons, Tempest. There comes a time in everyone's life when they have to face their foes head on. Or are you telling me you're too scared to face whoever is out there."

She shook her head. Ignoring the pounding in her chest, she let Ciel lead the way. They were quickly engulfed and lost in the crowd as it swam like trout up a river into the dimly lit theater. The tickets were produced by her slightly shaking hand from her clutch purse. The man at the podium was a thin one in a sharp, black suit. A silver rose was stuck to lapel. Tempest thought that his ensemble was a little strange for just a ticket taker. The suit was nice, but completely out of place for such a position.

She handed him their tickets anyway. He tore off the stubs, handed what remained back to her, and reached for his lapel. Tempest was gently pushed by the people behind her, but she could have sworn that he whispered something into the rose.

The theater, although small on the outside, was large, very large, on the inside. It had a vaulted ceiling that appeared to be the heavens. The ceiling was painted like the night sky. Small, almost undetectable, light bulbs were set up like stars twinkling and flickering. They were drawn further and further in. Tempest, being an actress, could not help but find her eyes wandering from this place and that, beholding such a magnificent view.

The pews were marked in Roman letters. Looking around, she thought for a short while she had stepped into the Cathedral of the Night. The whole place reminded her of medieval churches. The seats were lined up, circling the stage. The crowds managed to seat themselves comfortably enough, although the atmosphere seemed tight.

Tempest grew her shawl about herself, closing her hand around it tightly to her chest. Ciel's hand rested on her waist as they made their way down the aisle. A strange old man with white mutton chops approached them. He seemed to have stepped straight out from the shadows for Ciel hadn't even noticed him until his leather hand touched his shoulder. To be fair, the crowd had distracted him and upon seeing this old creature, it wasn't any wonder why he shrunk back, taking Tempest with him. They stood together the three of them for several more minutes. Patrons brushed past them, curious to know what they were doing and frustrated that they had blocked a clear path down the aisle.

Ciel stared at him, waiting for something to happen. However, the old man was unmoved by him. He locked his hands behind his shoulders and seemed quite relaxed. His dark gray eye wandered from Ciel to Tempest, and then back again.

Then he did something very odd.

He bowed.

"Begging your pardon, Miss McIntyre. I was not told that you brought a gentleman friend with. Your seats are right this way, if you will follow me." He said a polite, British voice.

He spun on his heels. By now, most of the crowd had found their seats and waited for the performance to start. Idle chatter filled the whole theater. Tempest couldn't hear herself think let alone Ciel's voice when he followed the old man towards the back of the seats.

They followed him past the furthest back row and into a small chamber. It was a stair well, better lit the rest of the theater.

Bowing once again, he pointed to the stairs, "Take these stairs to your box seat. It is the only balcony in the house and my lady wished for you to fully enjoy the show from there. Her performance will begin shortly. Should there be anything you need, please do not hesitate to find me."

"Thank you, sir." Ciel answered for the both of them.

Tempest climbed up the spiraling staircase. Her heels echoed against the black metal. Besides this, she could only hear the crowd below, but that was soon silenced when the stairwell door was closed. She glanced downwards and found the old man to be nowhere in sight. He had simply vanished before she could ask him anything else or even say thank for herself. It was somewhat of a relief; however he left more questions than answers. They could talk freely now, yet she felt as if he had never left to begin with. Invisible eyes were watching them, watching her. A cold chill ran up her spine, causing her to shiver. She repressed it as well as she could just to keep Ciel from seeing.

"He's certainly a butler. Whoever his lady is, she's probably the one who sent the request to meet you here."

"How do you know he's a butler?" Tempest was curious to know how he came to such a conclusion.

"He has that certain air that all butlers seem to have. I've lived and roamed the world with one of my own. I know how they act."

"And why would she bring me here, whoever this lady is. I've never heard of her. I listen to a lot of music and I am, _was_, an actress. Why haven't I heard of this _Magdala _before?"

"I'm not sure. However, I believe we'll find out by the end of tonight."

"R-right," they reached the top of the stairs. A red velvet covered door was before them.

Tempest reached out and seized the knob. The door swung open with ease and with the creaking of a coffin. It opened directly unto the balcony, which was covered with a rich, crimson carpet. Two cherry wood armchairs with velvet pillows sat on the other side of it. A small matching coffee table stood between the armchairs. She sat down first.

There were booklets sitting on the coffee table. Tempest picked one up and opened to the first page. Magdala's portrait was there, staring back at her. The face seemed familiar, too familiar. Her black hair was curled and the top half pulled into a pony-tail. Her face was pale and she wore extravagant rosy eye make-up that made her blue eyes stand out all the more. She wore a small smile, the kind of smile that hid a dark past. In the picture, Magdala was dressed in a black sleeping gown. She appeared to be resting on a rock, her hands draped over a skull. The overall image appeared bitter-sweet, yet possessing some kind of vain hope.

The curtain rose suddenly. Tempest looked away from the booklet to find the curtains being pulled away. The stage was littered with fake snow. A bleak looking cemetery rested as the background. A solemn figure stood in the middle of the stage wearing nothing but a black hooded cloak and a red gown. It was a woman, from what she could tell by the thin arms.

An unseen violin played somewhere off stage. The audience was hushed.

"My friends, my dearest friends, oh how I love you. There are familiar faces tonight, I see. And there are…new faces here as well," the woman removed her cloak entirely and looked directly at the balcony.

"I have dreamt that I would go on performing for all of my life, but it seems that I cannot lie to myself."

She bent her head low and tossed the cloak off stage, revealing her deep red ball gown with a lace corset hugging her already small frame. Her lace-gloved hands spread out and her arms were stretched out as if to embrace the whole audience and then some.

"I have one more concert after this one and I will retire."

"Don't say that, Mag!" Someone yelled from the audience.

The whole crowd became a buzz with chitter-chatter. Magdala was further saddened by their remarks.

"Please, please, friends, believe me I wish this dream could go on. But sadly, some dream must end and we wake up and start a new day. I love you all and I have enjoyed your love and admiration and support throughout the years, and I thank you. I leave you in a few months' time, but I will keep you in my heart always."

"We love you, Mag!" Someone else shouted and then all grew silent like they were praying for more time to spend.

"Until my finale, I want this and my last concert not to be a fair well, but a perpetual memory for you. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show."

"Do you know who this woman is?" Ciel whispered.

"No, no at all. You would think that I would, but I haven't heard of her. It's very strange. I know almost every actor and actress across the city. She's never come up before." She whispered back.

The violin grew louder. Magdala opened her lips and Tempest felt shivers crawl all over her skin. The sound of Magdala's voice was intoxicating and ethereal, like an angel descending from heaven.

"_My love…where have you gone? Where can I find you? Are you lost, little one, my precious one, with your wings bent and hurt? I'll fly to where you are, if you'll call out my name. The winds cannot prevail, the storm cannot stop me. I'll fly wherever you are…"_

Tempest listened, and felt tears flowing down her cheeks.

"_Are you lost, little bird, somewhere in the dark, frightened and all alone? I'll fly wherever you are…"_

* * *

"Sounds like the concert as started," Kaede lit up another cigarette.

She sat on the ledge of the building, letting the turrets and tower shadow her from prying eyes. The embers falling from her cigarette were scattered to the winds before they could even hit the ground. The faint hum of music seeped through even the thick walls.

Her back was towards Undertaker, who stood guard on the opposite corner. He said nothing, which was unlike him.

"For a man who's known for his laughter, you're awfully and uncharacteristically quiet this evening. Want to talk about it?" She took another drag from her cigarette.

She looked down at all the little people scrambling around for an existence. They seemed like ants to her from up here.

"And for a woman who's better known for her tactics of shoot now and ask questions when everyone else is dead, you're uncharacteristically talkative." He pointed out.

"Touché." She blew a long stream of smoke. Kaede watched it vanish into the air. "I'm just bored out of my mind, sitting up here like a bump on a log."

She stood up carefully. Climbing upwards, she got a hold of the small tower and pulled herself against it. Now, she faced him, however his back was towards her still.

"I don't know why I even bothered to show up. Like I need to do favors for the likes of _you."_ Kaede ended with a sneer.

"Why are you here anyway?"

"Because my sister asked me to." Kaede took a particularly long drag from her cigarette. In just a few short minutes, she was almost done with it.

"How is Misao doing these days?"

"Heart-broken and between men…as usual. But you would know about that wouldn't you?"

Straightening her back, Kaede crossed her arms and walked along the flat part of the roof and then pointed her burning cigarette towards him.

"Let me ask one more question, what is it about women and…you? I mean, really. What woman in her right mind would fall into bed with you? You're a complete mad-man and yet you have women from nearly every continent swooning at your feet. I didn't believe that you had child by a human. When first heard that, I brushed it off as non-sense. A human, Undertaker. Does your depravity know no bounds?"

"No." He said simply.

"Of course not," Kaede sighed angrily.


	26. Chapter 26

Since the show began, Tempest could do nothing but fidget in her chair and watch silently as a member of the audience. It had been so long since she had been the watching viewing instead of the viewed. This Magdala had captured the whole crowd. The songs were all original, from what Tempest could tell, and owned a melodramatic tone, a bitter-sweet Passion play. She tried her best not to analyze the show from her actress perspective. There were far more pressing matters than reviewing the show in her head.

The woman in question never left her name on the letters. They were going on only assumptions and second-hand information. The certainty of the identity of the mystery writer was left in the air. How were they to know who this woman was or if she really was the sender? They didn't. There was no possible way to find out for sure until the end of the show. Tempest had to remain patient. She was perhaps the only one of the two in the balcony seats anxious. She had taken the playbill. The paper was easily crumbled up in her hands. By the end of the show, the playbill sat in her lap, torn to shreds. As she watched, her hands nervously did their own thing, developing a mind of their own. The playbill was wrinkled up repeatedly until there was no chance of restoring it. Her hands, then, went to work on tearing it apart. Tempest had realized that she had been absentmindedly tearing up the playbill until final curtain call.

Ciel took her hand and squeezed it firmly. She looked down at her lap finding shredded confetti sprinkled all over her dress. A faint blush of embarrassment touched her cheeks. She quickly dusted herself off.

A knock at the exit caught there attention. The old man from before entered without asking, bowing again.

"My lady is ready to see you now," was all he said before turning on his heels and headed for the stairwell.

The two of them rose with Ciel's hand wrapped around hers in a tight grip. Some of the confetti tumbled and fell from her as she stood up from the chair. The shawl about her shoulders was fixed with her free hand and with nothing else to do, they set after the old butler.

The whole time they travelled behind the man, Tempest could hear her heart beating faster and faster still inside the confines of her chest. Her heart was like a war drum, pounding away. Her greatest fear now wasn't that they were possibly meeting a new enemy, but that Ciel might hear her heart racing and force them to retreat because she was too afraid. She was; she couldn't lie about that. However, if she backed down from an opportunity such as this, she might never forgive herself. She was through with playing the damsel in distress. Her role in life was to be stronger than she ever been before. No matter who or what she faced, she was going to fight on. The Joan of Arc of her new life.

The butler looked over his shoulders ever y now and then to check and see if they still followed behind him. Once satisfied, he turned his head again and continued on. They snaked around the crowd that was taking their leave. Following the man was easier than one might think. He stood out in the crowd with his graying mutton-chop sideburns and stiff body language. He was rigid like a trained military war-hero. The way he carried himself made it appear that he had stepped out of a nineteenth century painting. His face was set in a stern, serious mask, indifferent to those around; very businesslike he was. Even when a couple of patrons asked for directions, he sent them off with a few short words and a wave of his hand. Tempest watched these aforementioned patrons leave with confused and disgruntled faces. His answers left them dissatisfied and they left without further questioning in search of someone who could be more helpful. Tempest disliked tourists as the next New York resident, but there was no need to send them off into the city unprepared and lost.

Were there to be no one left in the theater? She wondered.

By the time they walked on the stage, most of the audience had filed back out into the street. Tempest paused as they walked across the stage. She stared out into the empty seats, the lights beaming over her. It was nostalgic, to say the least, to be on stage again. There rose a sadness within her as she stared out into the seats. The smell of hard wood and other familiar odors of the theater filled her senses. The warmth of the heated lamp caused her heart to swell. It was a familiar feeling standing there, looking out towards the audience. She missed the feel of the stage light shining on her like the noon-day sun. She missed the sound of her feet treading against the stage floor. The theater was a part of her, a world she couldn't fully leave behind in the past.

"Would you wait a moment, sir?" Ciel noticed that Tempest's hand had slipped away from him. He had given himself over to panic briefly before finding her just a few feet away, staring languidly into the empty seats.

He touched her shoulder. She woke up as if from a dream. Her blue eyes looked at him, teary. He took her hand again. Saying nothing, for words could not be found, he led her away. Tempest looked back at the stage even as they disappeared behind the veil of curtains.

The butler took them backstage. Several tech-crew members were already scrambling about, performing their post-show duties: turning off the lights, sweeping the floors, moving the unneeded costumes in storage. The bustling crowd backstage made room for them. The backstage was incredible small to what Tempest was accustomed too. Granted, she never played on a Broadway stage, but the theaters she performed in were certainly of bigger sizes than this little place. Backstage was cramped and the walls seemed to box her in. People were forced against the walls just to make room for the three of them.  
"What is this place called?" Tempest asked.

"This establishment is owned and operated by my employer, the Lady Magdala. She calls it the _Black Victoria_. It is small theater, but it suits her needs. She is the only performer here besides the occasional classical orchestra and like performers. She is very picky about who she chooses."

"I-I have never heard of her. I've been in the world of theater for a good portion of my life. I know almost everybody. But I have never heard of _Magdala_ before." She said honestly.

He paused as if deep in thought. "My lady…likes to keep things covert. She does not seek fame and fortune for what she does. She likes to perform for the sole pleasure of it. She does not need the money from becoming famous. She has no need of it."

"I see," Tempest was still unsatisfied with his answer.

His answer was very vague. It was possible for that to happen, but to be completely unknown to her was very unlikely. Tempest had heard of even smaller troupes of actors, dancers, and other performers. Not once had the name Magdala come up. Small troupes liked to keep in contact with each other just see what the others were doing and form a sub-culture within the larger scene. The name Magdala had never once appeared, not among the people she knew.

She gripped Ciel's tighter now as they headed towards what she could only assume to be the dressing room. There was only one of them.

The butler led them further on until they stood a few feet away, an arm's length away from the door. He stopped them with a motion of his hand and he entered alone. They couldn't hear a word that was spoken because of the sound created by the tech crew bustling around them. The butler emerged once more.

"She'll see you now. And she begs your pardon for her appearance. She is in the middle of removing her stage make-up." He held the door open wide for them.

Tempest took some uneasy steps. Her knees were knocking and all she could hope for was that her dress would cover them. She suddenly felt nervous and afraid. Questions were already flooding her mind, clouding her thoughts within even more confusion, as if she hadn't already felt it before that day. Her heels quickly became uncomfortable to walk. It felt like she was walking on glass. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she and Ciel passed through the threshold.

The door shut behind them.

The door startled Tempest, causing her to jump a little. She took a few deep breaths and looked around the room. It was a quaint little space with a retro feel. Well, more like antique. There was only so much room for furniture and sit comfortably. There was a vanity, a plush chair, a velvet couch, and a large, ornamental silk screen. In the incandescent light of the lamps mounted on the walls, a lithe shadow moved against the screen. A woman's figure was in the middle of changing clothes. Tempest heard the rustling fabric and this noise seemed to drown out not only the sound of the tech crew beyond the door, but also the sound of her pounding heart. This did little to ease her.

The silhouette hidden behind the silk screen finished dressing. She sighed heavily. It seemed that she was just as nervous as Tempest was. A slender hand was drawn across the edge of the screen. The woman moved slowly out from behind her hiding place.

She was a petite woman in her late thirty's or mid-forties, but still very young and beautiful. Her black hair, with the texture of silk, was curled to the end of its life and cascaded like a waterfall down her back. Her dainty figure was robed in a lacy dressing robe, its red fabric practically dripping off her form. Her painted fingernails fiddled absent-mindedly with the Venetian lace that hemmed the sleeves. Her dark eyes, also red like dull rubies, darted for the floor, occasionally passing over her own slippered feet. The woman walked as if there was a weight on her shoulders, and yet with a small amount of grace. Ciel noticed how her throat lurched slightly as she swallowed hard.

"Y-you," Tempest stammered in the awkward silence.

The woman raised her head finally, but a flush of color painted her cheeks.

"I know, I know what you are about to say." She said with a timid voice.

Tempest nearly stumbled backwards into the wall behind her. Ciel caught her, holding her up as she had lost strength in her own legs. Her blue eyes stared at the woman. Those eyes held a mixture of many emotions, fear, confusion, shock, horror. She stared up with eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights, unblinking and unaware of anything in the room.

"Why, why do you look my mom?" Tears were beginning to swell up in her eyes as distant memories were flooding back.

"I can explain." She offered them a seat at her couch.

"Please do," Ciel demanded. He half-carried Tempest over to the other side of the room, supporting her weight lest she fall.

Tempest sat uneasily, knees almost glued together and limbs shaking. All the while, she couldn't stop herself from staring at the woman who pulled the cushioned armchair away from the vanity and set it in front of them. She gathered up her robe, revealing as little as possible her silk dress beneath, and sat down herself, still playing with the lace.

"As you can tell, I bear a strong resemblance to your mother, don't I, Emilie? It's because…I'm your aunt. I am her twin sister. Given away at birth because I reminded my own mother…of the mistake she made."

"What mistake was that?"

The woman sighed. Looking down at her lap, her eyes too began to swell up with tears. She looked crestfallen and ashamed. The history she had must have been so heavy on the heart to make her suddenly go silent again.

"You will find that there are _four _birth certificates and _three_ baptismal gowns. I was left out of the family history because your grandmother was ashamed of me. If I stuck around, people would have known that I and your mother were not fathered by the same man as your uncle. Her eyes would have more easily passed in the family. There are some of our relatives who have dark eyes like hers. Red eyes are genetic, as you can tell, and cannot be found in an Irish-Scot American family. I was given up for adoption while your mother was taken home."

"You haven't answered my question. What was the mistake?"

She paused, shame covering her face entirely. Her face became a mask of shame and embarrassment.

"She contracted a demon."

Ciel's frown deepened, if it could. "You're not joking, are you?"

The woman shook her head and looked up. "I would never lie about such a thing. She gave me away because I didn't look enough like any family members of hers. She wanted to have more children, but she couldn't. There was an accident after Michael was born. She was in a car wreck and she was pregnant a year after he was born. She was carrying her second child, eight months pregnant, almost at full term. She barely survived the crash. Her husband died, as did the child in her womb."

"'Dress for a child, never worn, stained in the memory and tears for a name you never learned.'" Ciel recited.

She nodded.

"Wait a minute; you said that the husband died. How is that possible? I know I had a grandfather growing up."

"That man, the man you thought was your grandfather wasn't him at all. The man your grandmother married died years ago. Someone else took his place."

"A doppelganger?" Ciel asked.

She shook her head. "Worse than that. The newly widowed Mrs. McIntyre threw herself headlong into depression. This was the 1960's before they even recognized it as a disorder. Her life suffered. And in the midst of her suffering, someone came knocking. Someone who said that he could fulfill all of her needs and desires. Take care of her and her son, even help her have more even though doctors said it would be impossible since the accident. And it all came with a very special price."

A lump formed in Tempest's throat.

"A demon made a contract with her." Ciel said what Tempest dared not say.

"Yes, the children produced, me and my sister, would be what some might call the spawn of the devil. One of us received more traits from the father, and I think you can tell me which one it was."

"But why all the secrecy? Why wait until now?" Ciel grew more impatient by the minute. The woman's pausing between answers and her reluctance was starting to test him. It only seemed to make matters worse.

"I was kept a secret because if the grim reapers found out, then everyone of us would have been eliminated. Tempest would never have been born. I don't know who is behind all this. I just do as I'm told by my…father."

"Who is this man?"

"He runs the underground world of demons in New York City. He lives like a king and he's powerful."

"There's an entire network of demons. Have things really changed that much?"

"With increasing disregard for religion, a network of demons was an unintended side effect. With people turning towards science, we've had to create new ways to draw out souls and it just proves that we have become stronger out might even out number humans on earth."

"Why keep it a secret for so long?"

"I don't know. My father may have a deal with a grim reaper somewhere, but who they are I don't know."

Ciel stopped to think himself. The woman, who he doubted was actually called Magdala, it seemed too much of a stage name, spoke with sincerity. She had yet to ask for anything in return and nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for her unnamed butler. But what she just said, set off an alarm in his head.

He straightened himself and leaned forward.

"We have a friend, a grim reaper, who was attacked a few days ago, at the headquarters of the local dispatch. Do the names 'Mascha' or 'Seth' mean anything to you?"

Tears freely rolled down the woman's cheeks.

"Yes," she wailed. "Yes, they work for my father. They…and five others are his personal goon squad, the Deadly Seven, after the cardinal sins. Your friend must have gotten too close."

"Too close? What do you mean?"

The woman dabbed her eyes with the hems of her sleeves. The unwashed make-up smudged and left great black circles around her eyes.

"Father," she snifled, "has been doing favors for this unknown mole at the dispatch. It's like a business deal they've had ever since me and Christina were born. Like a giant cover up, but they do favors for each other now and then. He said that I keep quiet and don't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong, I'll be safe."

"Then why the sudden change of heart? By the sound of it, if he finds out that you're talking to us, he'll kill you." Ciel almost sounded as if he cared for the woman across from him. He managed to surprise himself. Admittedly, he sort of did. He might have had to if she was Tempest's last living relative that was not a disgusting monster, pardon the irony.

"He will. It's only a matter of time. I lived a life knowing that my father was hurting innocent people and his partner was helping him. I know that you can put a stop to them, Ciel Phantomhive, if not for the sake of humanity, but for Tempest."

"You know who I am?" He was not all that surprised. It was hard to notice.

"Yes, I have kept some tabs on you, since you are my niece's companion and protector now."

"Then why do you call me Emilie? I don't go by that name anymore."

"Because I think of my stage name as a mask, a persona I live by to protect myself from all the pain I carry with me, day after day. I hold names to be sacred. I have used your birth name because it is the name your mother gave you and I only wished I had been there for you more often than I had."

"The Repentant Sinner." Ciel remarked.

"Yes, the name I was given was Mary." She paused again. "There is one other thing I must…confess. It was I who…suggested your mother to Damon."

Tempest's jaw could have dropped to the carpeted floor. She rose suddenly from her seat, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. Her body became rigid like cold stone. Hands at her waist turned into tight fists and her dark brows furrowed.

"You what?" She snarled at Mary.

"He and I made a deal that if I gave him something, he would give you a pair of eyes. The deal we made didn't include your mother, I swear. If I gave him my eyes in exchange, he would give you new ones. But he made the deal with your mother before I could stop him. I am so sorry." Mary's lower lip quivered as the words tumbled out of her mouth like a poorly spoken confession of sins.

Tempest stood there, shaking with anger, a look of hatred in her eyes. She nothing for the longest time. The blue shawl slipped completely off her shoulders, but it seemed that she neither cared nor noticed. She raised her hand in the air as if to slap her, but she hesitated. Mary prepared herself for the blow, but Tempest calmed herself down enough to bring her hand down again.

"Do you know how many times he almost raped me? How many showers I had to take just to get the feel of him off my skin? How many times I had to look over my shoulder to see if he was there? How he taunted me, threatened me, and forced himself on me? How burned my apartment to the ground and killed twelve innocent people in the process? Did you honestly think that you could make up for all that with an 'I'm sorry?' I don't care who you are or how you're related to me just stay the hell away!"

Leaving the shawl forgotten on the floor, she stormed out of the dressing room. The butler stood confused as he entered the door way.

"Should I go after her, milady?" He asked politely.

"No, no, George. Leave her be. She and her gentleman will be leaving immediately." Mary buried her face in her hand. She leaned over the right side of the armchair in a melancholic fashion. Behind the curtain of her hand, tears streamed downwards with much more ferocity and in greater amount.

Ciel stood as well and picked up the shawl. As he was leaving and the George the butler entered, he could barely hear her with a strangled voice, bemoaning herself like a true Mary Magdalene.

"Please forgive me." She repeated with a cracked voice.


	27. Chapter 27

Tempest blinked her eyes open, wondering how she ended up in bed. There were footsteps in the room, but she couldn't tell who it was. She found out when the bedroom curtains were rudely thrust open. With the immediate burst of sun rays breaching through the window now that the only blockade was removed, Tempest made quick cover under the sheets. Hidden under the confines of the bedsheets, she would be safe against her mortal enemy, that burning yellow ball of unyielding, merciless heat. It was the first time she noticed how bright and obnoxious the sun could actually be when one wakes up in the morning.

"Good morning to you too, Sebastian," she snarled, tugging the sheets and blankets over her head.

A sharp tug from one side of the bed had her sitting in the bright, blazing sunlight again, much to her disapproval.

"It's twelve thirty in the afternoon, Miss. I was recommended to wake you up." He pulled the bedsheets completely out of her reach so she could not hide under them for the rest of the day.

She desperately reached out to grab them back from him, but the effort proved futile. She barely had the energy to sit up straight, let alone take something out of Sebastian's hands. It was more effort than she really wanted to exert. All she could hear at the moment was Sebastian moving about the room and the ringing in her ears, which she was not able to successfully ignore. Tempest sat up, bending her legs over the edge of the mattress. Stretching and yawning, she cracked her neck and all of her aching joints that seemed to be strangely stiff. Her head was pounding. The woman could practically feel her brain throbbing against the walls of her skull.

Blinking again, adjusting to the light, she began to notice some unusual aches she hadn't felt in a long time. There was the stiff joints, throbbing headache, and the ringing in the ears. A blush of embarrassment came across her face. Added to the fact that she couldn't remember the night before, she feared the worst possible thing ever.

Relapse.

Her hands tightened the fabric of the nightgown she didn't remember putting on in her pale fists as she tried to remember anything at all about last night. There was a missing piece and it was something important she had to remember. But what was it? The harder she tried to recall any memories from last night, the foggier they became. They were elusive little critters scuttling across her brain. When her conscious self made a grab for an unconscious memory, it disappeared before she lay a hand on it.

"W-what did I do last night?" Humility was not long forgotten. She tasted something sour at the roof of her mouth she didn't seem to notice earlier, and it wasn't her conscience talking.

"Would you like to know the truth or would you care if I _spin it _in a way that will make you feel less guilty?"

Tempest swallowed hard. A big lump rested in her throat, making it hard to speak.

Did she really want to know the answer?

"Tell me the truth." She sighed, the guilty weight on her shoulders just grew heavier.

Trepidation filler her as she waited with baited breath upon the butler's brutal, honest words.

"You started drinking again," he answered solemnly, "And by that I mean alcohol. You managed to guzzle away half a bottle of pricy scotch in a matter of two hours before someone found you passed out in the library, shot glass in hand."

The fears she had dealt with, the demons she faced, both external and internal, and everything she was afraid of mounted up to nothing as this very real horror she faced now. Sour bile rose in her already sore throat. Her stomach churned and she felt as if she was going to blow chunks into the nearest trash container, that is if she hadn't done so earlier without her remembering.

Groaning, Tempest buried her face in her hands. If her stomach wasn't in knots before then, it was now. The very thought of returning to old habits sickened her. She spent months without the stuff. She had quit cold turkey; there hadn't been a single drop of alcohol to pass by her lips in months. Why did she suddenly give up all that she had accomplished in defeating her addiction? What was so bad that she was reduced to drinking again? The key to the solution was within her memories, however that did little good since she didn't have any memories of the night before whatsoever. The only thing she was able to draw upon was a blank slate. Like last night never happened.

Maybe not remembering was a good thing. Whatever happened must have been something neither she nor her will power could overcome. Whatever it was may just end up being a mystery better left unsolved. At least for now. At the moment there was something a little more important than recovering a lost memory, even if that lost memory meant that she lost an entire evening which she would never be able to get back; she could find those memories some other time. Damage control was one of the first things on her mind. The second was this: crying and sobbing openly like a baby. Whether or not Sebastian saw her do this mattered little.

The door closed and for a while she thought she had been left alone to wallow in her self-pity. A pair of heavy boots marched towards her. Tempest raised her head to find Kaede glaring down at her. The woman's unnaturally colored eyes burned behind her glasses. If looks could kill...

"Get dressed." Kaede ordered with a sharp tone.

Tempest did not fully understand. She opened her mouth to ask why Kaede wanted her to change clothes, but was cut short.

"You and I are going for a ride."

Tempest didn't like the sound of that at all. She swallowed again, unsure if she wanted to go along or not. By the look on Kaede's face, it didn't appear that she had much of a choice.

"Give me a few minutes," Tempest mumbled.

"If you're not ready in ten, I''ll drag you out of here, whether you're fully clothed or not." Kaede was the kind of person that didn't make threats; she made promises. And Tempest wasn't about to let her make good this promise.

Kaede stormed out the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Tempest sighed and hobbled over to the dresser. She pulled out something simple, blue jeans and a black graphic t-shirt from Hot Topic, a grinning sugar skull stamped loudly and proudly on the front in a myriad of different colors. Despite the fact that this particular shirt made her feel a little gloomy with its bright colors and all, Tempest had a horrible knot in her stomach. They had seen her drunk before, but it was mainly Beatrix who had seen the worst of her addiction. Now that she and Ciel were a couple, the idea of him seeing her in such a state again sickened her to the core of her being. She had told him she was stronger, and in a lot of ways she was. She tried not to imagine the look he must have had on his face when he saw her fall back into old habits. The only thing she could distract herself with was getting dressed in under ten minutes. She changed clothes despite how miserable she felt on the inside, ran a brush through her hair, and tied it up in a messy bun. Today she didn't bother going to the bathroom to put her face on. It just wasn't a very good day to wear make-up.

Her feet were shoved inside a pair of black ballet flats just as Kaede returned as she promised.

"Follow me," she said curtly after giving the girl a quick inspection of her attire.

Tempest willingly followed, not that she had much of a choice. It was best for her well-being to shut up and let the other woman do the talking. There was no one else in the house, so it seemed. She couldn't find a single soul, if you pardon the pun. She was led down the stairs, through the front door, and into a black car sitting in front of the house. Kaede climbed into the driver's seat and Tempest sat up front next to her.

The car was started. Radio was flipped on. They didn't say anything else to each other the whole trip. Except the music blasting through the speakers, it couldn't be any quieter.

Kaede drove like she knew where she was going, almost like a real New Yorker. Tempest sat moping with chin resting on her hand. She stared blankly at the people, cars, and buildings they past by. After a while, she stopped paying attention to where they were going. Not that it easy keeping track. They moved past streets signs before she had the chance to read them.

Ten minutes turned into twenty and twenty quickly became thirty before Kaede pulled into a parking garage. She paid the toll out of her own pocket. By instinct, Tempest reached for her own wallet before realizing it was probably still on her bedside table. The car was parked and the exited. Kaede continued to led the way since Tempest had no idea where they were at, and that was bad sign because this was supposed to be her home turf. They headed towards a white office building. On one side of the massive structure, a list of doctors in differing disciplines were hung up on giant, bold signs. None of the names sounded familiar, so Tempest grew even more nervous now.

After riding one elevator to the third floor and turning down a long hallway, Kaede nearly pushed her into a waiting room. Shyly, Tempest found a seat closest to the door. Kaede eyed her even as she went to the receptionist's desk. The woman behind the desk was so stereotypical, it wasn't even funny. A blonde with big, fake boobs popping her gum like tomorrow or as if no one could actually hear it. She held a phone to her ear, occasionally nodding and wrote down notes on a yellow notepad.

The receptionist looked away from her task at hand and moved the phone away from her mouth..

"Can I help you?"

She was from Brooklyn as far a Tempest could tell. The accent was clear enough.

"We have an appointment at two."

The receptionist told the party on the phone that she would call them back shortly before rising and rushing off behind a paneled door. Kaede plopped down in the nearest chair, but kept a keen eye on Tempest. The girl wasn't dumb enough to try and run away from Kaede of all people. That would be suicide.

The receptionist returned, but held the door open.

"Dr. Lincoln will see you now," she motioned.

Kaede gave Tempest this look. The best she could assume was that this appointment was meant for her. However, she still wondered what kind of doctor was this _Doctor Lincoln _anyway.

She stood up from her chair and went inside. The door was closed behind her. Tempest was startled and she jumped a little. When gained control of herself, she took a look at her new surroundings. It was like a small, cozy sitting room or parlor. Bookshelves lined the walls. Surprisingly, only a few shelves were actually dedicated to books. Many of the shelves were more or less display cases for family photos, nick knacks, or college diplomas. A brunette woman, early forties, sat in an armchair, reading over some kind of paperwork on a clipboard. Her brown eyes were nearly hidden beneath veil of thick bangs. She looked up once and saw Tempest standing cluelessly in her office. The doctor stood up at once, setting aside the clipboard on the floor. She went up to her and grasped her hand with a firm, cordial shake.

"I'm Doctor Amanda Lincoln. I'm a therapist." She guided Tempest into one the chairs.

She sat down in it uneasily. Admittedly, Tempest wanted nothing more than run for the hills than have a talk with a therapist. She was crazy enough as it is; the last thing she wanted was to be forced to tell her deepest, darkest secrets to a complete stranger. But at least the atmosphere didn't feel like she was about to have therapy session. The room was indeed bright and cozy, like a grandmother's living room.

"I hear you've been having some problems," Dr. Lincoln said sweetly, "Care to talk about them?"

Tempest blushed and stopped wandering around the room with her eyes.

"Where do I begin," she sighed heavily.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."


End file.
